<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663</id><updated>2011-09-25T19:26:19.740-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Vintage Lines.</title><subtitle type='html'>I want to be where the ocean meets the sea</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>312</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-2385145789618823396</id><published>2011-03-28T11:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-03-28T11:16:15.952-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-S4PARLTCUUs/TZDQTGMTqgI/AAAAAAAAA0M/XDq9HfvYefI/s1600/1902%2BFloorplan%2B3.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 250px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-S4PARLTCUUs/TZDQTGMTqgI/AAAAAAAAA0M/XDq9HfvYefI/s400/1902%2BFloorplan%2B3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589196164065110530" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MaL2yUrjRTc/TZDQTE0SYiI/AAAAAAAAA0E/4haOGGofh08/s1600/1902%2BFloorplan%2B1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 250px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MaL2yUrjRTc/TZDQTE0SYiI/AAAAAAAAA0E/4haOGGofh08/s400/1902%2BFloorplan%2B1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589196163695927842" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-N9It1A_P4qs/TZDQS2SenOI/AAAAAAAAAz8/4DuhHa59VF0/s1600/1902%2BFloorplan%2B4.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 250px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-N9It1A_P4qs/TZDQS2SenOI/AAAAAAAAAz8/4DuhHa59VF0/s400/1902%2BFloorplan%2B4.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589196159796026594" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-2385145789618823396?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/2385145789618823396/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=2385145789618823396' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/2385145789618823396'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/2385145789618823396'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2011/03/blog-post.html' title=''/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-S4PARLTCUUs/TZDQTGMTqgI/AAAAAAAAA0M/XDq9HfvYefI/s72-c/1902%2BFloorplan%2B3.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-1888094120720115861</id><published>2011-03-25T18:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-03-25T19:02:21.857-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Grad School and Summer Plans</title><content type='html'>I got into graduate school for commerce and diplomacy. Pretty excited. Mostly nervous that I won't be able to master a foreign language and so will fail the program or something. Also, looking for an apartment and roommate is kinda scary too. So many things to think about.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am going to try and stay in the area for the summer, instead of moving home for 3 months and then moving back again. I need a full time job for the summer then... I have a friend from the cycling team who offered me a full time job at a certain chicken-focused fast food chain that is closed on Sundays. I would be working 6am-2pm M-F. I abhor the idea of working with fast food, but it's a steady, dependable job and I have never heard anyone say that they didn't like working for the company.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-1888094120720115861?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/1888094120720115861/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=1888094120720115861' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/1888094120720115861'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/1888094120720115861'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2011/03/grad-school-and-summer-plans.html' title='Grad School and Summer Plans'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-4459984545828114050</id><published>2011-03-25T18:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-03-25T18:56:55.212-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Lasso the Moon</title><content type='html'>Participating in a church worship service every weekend has become bittersweet to me. I love singing about the eternal glory of the Lord and learning about my relationship with and to Him, but I just feel sick when I enter the room and see so many couples and single women, but almost no single men. It's like a double slap in the face: look at the people who have what you long for (a romantic relationship), as well as the slim odds of finding a God-fearing man (the abundance of single girls and very few men).&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I pulled into the church parking lot 5 minutes after the Saturday night service had begun last week and just started to cry because I knew that the scene I described above was waiting for me inside the church. I just didn't want to do it, to sit alone and see all of that. I almost left and drove back home, but I went in and sat through the service instead.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;On my way home, I realized that my mom had mentioned that the moon was supposed to be huge that night, so I looked up and searched the sky, but found nothing. Then I realized that the moon was hidden behind thick clouds. I half-joking, half-serious, prayed, "Jesus, I really wanted to see the moon tonight, please move the clouds."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Not even 3 seconds later, the clouds began to move. I laughed out loud, kept driving, and watched in awe as the clouds slowly continued to spread out and reveal the beautiful moon behind them. By the time I was home, the moon was hanging in the sky without a cloud anywhere near it. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;No, I might not have a human lover in my life and yes, I may have to sit alone at church fairly often, but I am my Beloved's and He is mine and He went and got the moon for me that night.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-4459984545828114050?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/4459984545828114050/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=4459984545828114050' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/4459984545828114050'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/4459984545828114050'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2011/03/lasso-moon.html' title='Lasso the Moon'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-4185015496135285218</id><published>2011-02-18T09:43:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-02-18T09:54:27.924-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Food Police</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;It's amazing how something as simple as a kindergarten activity sheet can cause me intense emotional distress.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XYO3za2XsfI/TV6xho4DqWI/AAAAAAAAAv8/R7m5X6Q8d0Q/s320/FoodPolice.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5575088580197591394" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have spent most of recovery telling myself that there is no such thing as a "good" food or a "bad" food. There are just foods. A food is morally neutral. Objects are morally neutral. Attaching a moral value to a specific food creates a positive or negative feeling associated with the food. One should not feel guilty for eating something, whether that food that has been falsely labeled as "bad" is a slice of cake, potato chips, carbs, bananas, or red meat. Eating should be pleasurable, not a fight between good and evil. It should definitely not inspire one to pat oneself on the back for being "good" or lead you to punishing yourself (whether physically or mentally) for eating "badly."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This assignment that the little girl brought home today really infuriates me. She already says that she "needs" to work out and yesterday she even said she was "fat" (I always correct her and tell her that she does not "need" to anything like workout -if she wants to run and play, she should and that's great. I also inform her that she is a healthy, beautiful girl and does not need to worry about what she looks like.) &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;She doesn't need some uninformed kindergarten instructor trying to prescribe a diet to her. She is a kid, her body naturally knows what it needs. It is just this type of teaching that will cause her to not trust her body to tell her what it needs and to think that she needs to follow a diet.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-4185015496135285218?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/4185015496135285218/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=4185015496135285218' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/4185015496135285218'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/4185015496135285218'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2011/02/food-police.html' title='Food Police'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XYO3za2XsfI/TV6xho4DqWI/AAAAAAAAAv8/R7m5X6Q8d0Q/s72-c/FoodPolice.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-2488877611600132324</id><published>2011-02-12T20:31:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2011-02-12T20:50:02.917-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Love Is Not Earned</title><content type='html'>Sometimes, when I look into the mirror as I am getting ready for bed, usually not wearing much more than shorts and a bra, I congratulate myself for obtaining and maintaining a thin, athletic body. However, just a few minutes later, I usually end up in bed that night with my knees hugged to my chest and my head hung low, wondering why, if I have such a nice body, prince charming has not come riding in and swept me off my feet yet. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Right about then, Ed stops talking and logic (aka, the voices of my nutritionist and counselor) comes in. I realize that no one should/would love me just because I have an attractive body (it won't always look like this anyway). And in the same way that a man should not love me because I somehow got the perfect body, he should also not love me because I could be the perfect wife who can cleaning anything, bake or cook everything, and knows how to discuss politics, as well as balance the checkbook. Why should a guy, or anyone for that matter, love anyone else?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When will I stop trying to be perfect to earn love? When will I stop expecting people to love me if only I could somehow embody this ever-evasive idea of "perfection"? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I know that I can't earn love. Love doesn't work like that. But I still find myself wondering why no one (no one that I click with intellectually) wants to marry me when I am physically fit, a good cook, and have a college degree.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-2488877611600132324?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/2488877611600132324/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=2488877611600132324' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/2488877611600132324'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/2488877611600132324'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2011/02/love-is-not-earned.html' title='Love Is Not Earned'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-6713395418143474532</id><published>2011-01-31T20:15:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-02-01T08:32:35.236-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Differences</title><content type='html'>Why is it that my mom has read countless books about  how to properly raise and deal with my sister and her issues, but has never once even looked at a book about eating disorders. Even when I suggest specific books, she still ignores them.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But when my sister has a problem, my mom goes out and attends a weekly class about it. She has never shown any interest in going to the classes at the eating disorder clinic. Instead, she asks me really awkward questions about it that I would prefer not to answer (i.e., "Why would someone not want, or be scared, to go into recovery?" and "Why does being at home make it act up?").&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Also, my boss is really beginning to get on my nerves. Well, not really her as much as living with her. It was all I could do last night to keep myself from marching into the living room and smacking her hard across the face -she was sitting on the couch watching Nip/Tuck with her 2 year old son. The episode has a raunchy sex scene it and was about a serial rapists who mutilated his victims. One scene even had a woman, whose cheek has been slashed like the Joker's in Batman's, saying, "you know what he says as he is ramming himself into you?" and going into the details of the rape. Totally inappropriate for a two year old to watch.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This wasn't just a one-time thing either. They watched some R-rated movie the other night with the two year old on their laps -there was domestic violence, fist fights, f-words, and talk of orgies. Don't they realize that watching this stuff is going to affect the little boy's development? That he doesn't process what is real and what is fake, what is good versus bad, what happens in movies versus what is normal behavior? I just want to yell at them.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;They even watched Shutter Island with the kids in the room. Of course, I came in at the part when Leo find his dead children in the water and the two and five year old children were staying up at the scream with mouths wide open.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Also, I wanted to have a dinner party, so I asked them if that'd be ok for Saturday night and they said no because they'll "be home that night." It's their house, yes, but it's also my place. I am living here too. It's not like they are having a party or friends over or doing something special. They are just going to be here and I wanted to have 6 friends over for dinner.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-6713395418143474532?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/6713395418143474532/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=6713395418143474532' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/6713395418143474532'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/6713395418143474532'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2011/01/differences.html' title='Differences'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-4502765880032365480</id><published>2011-01-19T12:49:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-01-19T13:08:44.289-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Thoughts on Recovery</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_w0CR8VQ1Aok/TTdQYkplyPI/AAAAAAAAAsw/_gmbdaSjspc/s1600/swirl.jpg"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;Recovery is not a straight path forever traveling away from the crisis point, it is a slowly, ever-widening swirl that circles around that crisis point.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;What I wish recovery was: &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_w0CR8VQ1Aok/TTdQYlX1PwI/AAAAAAAAAso/tnrkSaPTU94/s200/line.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5564004247918690050" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px; " /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;What recovery actually is: &lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_w0CR8VQ1Aok/TTdQYkplyPI/AAAAAAAAAsw/_gmbdaSjspc/s200/swirl.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5564004247724738802" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 137px; " /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It's not like I am always getting better. I try to always become further removed from Ed, but I just keep circling around and around, slowly getting farther away, but sometimes I sure can't tell. I suppose that's also why recovery is frustrating and doesn't always look like it's "working" -'cus it's cyclical. I go through good times a the top of the circle, bad times at the bottom.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My mom was complaining about my dad going through another one of his manly phases where he goes to all sorts of men's groups, men's retreats, and manly activities like kick-boxing, mountain biking, and camping. She says he has done it before, and I remember the one when I was in elementary school and honestly, I felt annoyed too. But after talking to my mentor, it made a little more sense. Ed and struggles with homosexuality are surprisingly similar -they both come from our brokenness, our desire to be accepted and loved, and represent Sin with a capital "S", though they both involve acts of sin too. They both are cyclical. I am sure I will go through phases, kickstarts, mountain highs and valley lows in my recovery-actually, I already do. It only makes sense that my dad would too. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I need to have a change of heart and be more understanding when it comes to my dad's recovery. Of course, that does not mean that I have to condone everything he does, nor does it mean that my mom was wrong when she left him after 30 frustrating years of watching these cycles.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I find that Ed has really given me an ability to understand addictions, whether behavioral or chemical, in a way that I never would have that possible. Also, in my recovery Bible study, it's crazy how alike my struggle and overeating are. They are the very same thing, just manifested in opposite directions. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-4502765880032365480?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/4502765880032365480/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=4502765880032365480' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/4502765880032365480'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/4502765880032365480'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2011/01/thoughts-on-recovery.html' title='Thoughts on Recovery'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_w0CR8VQ1Aok/TTdQYlX1PwI/AAAAAAAAAso/tnrkSaPTU94/s72-c/line.png' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-4761305189480563029</id><published>2010-12-27T06:10:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-12-27T06:30:47.348-08:00</updated><title type='text'>After The Holiday</title><content type='html'>Christmas was a bit crazy, but it went well over all. I put together the green bean casserole, candied yams, corn pudding, and banana pudding the day before, then transported them to my dad's and cooked them there. I also made the ham and heated up the frozen rolls (everything else was entirely from scratch, I deserved a break on the rolls) at my dad's house too.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My sister gave me the prettiest red apron with off-white polka dots and lace, my dad gave me a pretty necklace with fake pearls, and my mom gave me a pastry blender, pastry cloth, and 12-inch oven and stove top safe fry pan. Can you tell what my current obsession is?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;However much I love my family and am glad they like my new hobby (food), I find myself thinking, "I am so glad I only have a week left before I go back to Kentucky." I am sure I wish will myself home every once in a while in the next few months, but family can be crazy stressful. I worked out 6 days week when I was only supposed to work out 5. I just couldn't handle not moving and needed to do something to wear myself out. When I asked my mom about Alice's idea that, if I come back to O-town and get my MBA, it is about the same price to pay for therapy if I live at home as it is to pay for me to get my own place and not need therapy. She asked why  would need therapy if I lived at home and I tried to avoid answering her with some mumbling about stress and not having my own place and being at "that stage of life." She kept pressing though and finally became upset and began to cry and defend her messy house and crazy relations with my dad and sister. Argh. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Anyway, I currently waiting for my mom's non-boyfriend to pick me up and take me to the oral surgeon so I can have all four of my molars removed, oh joy. I will not be able to eat practically anything for 3 days or so and probably will not be well enough to cook either. I am preparing by setting up my station on the couch. The sheep icepack that my sister brought back from her trip to New Zealand is beside the couch, along with my camera, several issues of The Economist, my PC, and of course, the tv remote. I ordinarily dislike tv, but even I will admit that it is a source of worthy entertainment when I am feeling absolutely awful for multiple days.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-4761305189480563029?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/4761305189480563029/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=4761305189480563029' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/4761305189480563029'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/4761305189480563029'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2010/12/after-holiday.html' title='After The Holiday'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-9154701890220907431</id><published>2010-12-22T05:31:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-12-22T05:48:30.142-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Back Home for a Bit</title><content type='html'>Leaving campus for the last time as a student last Friday was bittersweet, but honestly, it was much more bitter than sweet. I have no real job, no real grad school plans yet; just working as a live-in nanny for the family I have been a part-time nanny for for the past two years. After making 6 quarts of turkey chili for my Bible study's Christmas party and enjoying food and fellowship with them, I got ready to leave for Florida Saturday morning.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;About the first hour into the drive home on Saturday, my mother called me to inform me that my sister is being sent to an inpatient center in Maine because her mental illness is such that neither of my parents know how to live with her and she refuses to live with my mother. Then I get a call that evening from my dad who says that he has talked to his friend's wife who is a counselor and she says that 5-day a week counseling at home will be better, so Mary is no longer going to Maine. Sunday morning rolls around and mom convinces dad to send Mary to Maine at lunch after church, so mom goes out and buys all of the clothes Mary will need. That evening, my dad is unsure again. On Monday, my dad informs my mom that he bought the plane tickets for him and Mary to go up to Maine, but he tells Mary of the plans that night and she flips out and says she wants to do the 5-day a week outpatient. So now she is not going to Maine. It's been terribly stressful, especially with my parents fighting about it and the psychologist and psychiatrist not being on the same page either.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Ed is really playing mean this week. I am so tempted to work out all 7 days a week. I know, I have the power not to, but he is so forceful when I am at home in the environment that it all started in. I met with my nutritionist and she suggested that, instead of paying for the expensive weekly therapy that will probably be required if I move home for grad school, I should just ask my parents to use that money to pay for my own place. It's either fight for what I have worked through with Ed and pay lots of money to do it, or have my own place and continue only going to therapy occasionally. Having my own place seems a lot easier and less stressful.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;In other news, I am making all of Christmas dinner (remember the fiasco with Mary refusing help on Thanksgiving and saying that I would do all of Christmas?). I wish she would help. Cooking with people is one of my favorite activities. There is something bonding about working together to create what provides vital nourishment to our bodies. Oh well.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The Christmas menu is (drum roll): &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Honey-praline baked ham&lt;br /&gt;Corn pudding&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Green bean casserole&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Candied sweet potatoes (no marshmallows!)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Frozen sister Schubert's rolls (I gotta have a little break somewhere)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Banana pudding pie&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-9154701890220907431?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/9154701890220907431/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=9154701890220907431' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/9154701890220907431'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/9154701890220907431'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2010/12/back-home-for-bit.html' title='Back Home for a Bit'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-4213792863500076228</id><published>2010-12-10T10:19:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-12-10T10:39:24.818-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Voyage of the Dawn Treader</title><content type='html'>At about 10am yesterday, I received a call from my roommate inviting me to the US premiere of the Voyage of the Dawn Treader that night. The catch was that I was at work and would not get off 'till 5:30pm, but in order to make it to the premiere, I had to be dressed in formal wear and ready to go by 4pm. I quickly called my boss to ask to get off work early and she graciously agreed to come home early.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Going in to the theater, I asked for a water, since there was free coke, sprite, and diet coke, and popcorn available, but the boy at the table refused. However, he offered to get my roommate anything she wanted, including the candy items that were not supposed to be free to us.&lt;br /&gt;When we were being assigned seats, I asked to have 4 together, so all of my friends could sit together, and the usher refused. However, when he saw my roommate come in and realized I was one of her friends, he promptly re-directed us to 8 free seats in the front.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The movie was fantastic. It was really cool to see the actors who portrayed Lucy and Edmund and to hear them explain for 5 minutes what the movie meant to them. The Voyage of the Dawn Treader is my favorite book in the Narnia series. I must admit, the story is not particularly thrilling compared to the other Narnia books, but the symbolism is powerful and it is almost impossible to escape the deep meaning it has on our lives and relationships with Christ.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Edmund is the key character in the story and he is the one I most relate to, mostly because of his continual struggle with the White Witch. She shows up in different forms, with different words, but never gives up trying to take him away from his purpose, from living the true live, from following Aslan. She uses so many lies and tricks and sometimes they seem so real.&lt;br /&gt;I especially love how the results Eustace's own faults and sins (Eustace's pride/bigotry ends up turning him into a dragon) are used for good when he helps to save Edmund and the crew from Edmund's own dark night (the sea serpent that Edmund dreams up).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is such a powerful story. It was beautiful to watch Reepicheep row his boat into Aslan's land. I loved the line, when he lays down his sword on the beach, "I won't be needing this there" and with a burst of energy, excitement, and full confidence in Aslan, he grabs his perfectly-sized boat and goes over the wave. I wish to be brave and have a faith like Reepicheep's, but I am also so grateful that Aslan never gives up on Edmund, no matter how many times he lets the lies deceive him. There is always his own perseverance, a friend, or Aslan himself to speak the truth and wake Edmund out of the trance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The White Witch for Edmund is like my Ed.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-4213792863500076228?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/4213792863500076228/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=4213792863500076228' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/4213792863500076228'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/4213792863500076228'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2010/12/voyage-of-dawn-treader.html' title='Voyage of the Dawn Treader'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-1656923749266163902</id><published>2010-11-09T15:47:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-11-10T05:42:38.422-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I cook and play tag for $</title><content type='html'>I am so blessed: I am sitting with some of the sweetest kids, putting together a giant puzzle, listening to Christmas music and drinking homemade hot cocoa after enjoying from-scratch biscuits and chicken pot pie.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Of course, it was a bit crazy figuring out what to make this morning when I walked in the house and was told, "there is chicken and ground beef and we have some pasta sauce that we opened up last night, could you make something for dinner?" I looked in the fridge and there were slimy carrots, limp celery stalks, and a half rotten onion, but, thank goodness, there was BUTTER =). I decided to try to use all the icky vegetables up before they became completely inedible and chicken pot pie is what I came up with.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Btw, I am so excited to make stuffed peppers on Thursday. The green peppers have been sitting there for two weeks now and are about to die too.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-1656923749266163902?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/1656923749266163902/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=1656923749266163902' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/1656923749266163902'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/1656923749266163902'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2010/11/i-am-so-blessed-i-am-sitting-with-some.html' title='I cook and play tag for $'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-6623119498133766394</id><published>2010-11-07T09:24:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-11-10T10:33:29.993-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Alone in the Caf</title><content type='html'>I'm sick of eating alone. I eat meals alone more than I eat with ppl and it's really depressing to do in a cafeteria. My friends either don't eat in the caf or dont have the same meal times as me or leave campus every weekend. I ask to sit witth ppl, but they always have a meeting with somene over lunch or are having a "lunch date" with a friend.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Also, my roomie says that I am melancholy and have been for the past two weeks or so. It has also been that the past two weeks have been really hard with Ed. Everyday I have been tempted with, "you could just skip a meal or a snack today" or "why don't you just go for a second run?" or "your stomach is getting a pooch." Blah! I hate the lies, the temptations, the seductive quality of slavery to the ideal and perfect image.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The counselors and professionals tell me that Ed gets worse when I am stressed, so I assume I am very stressed, as I have not been attacked like this in months. With my sister being up and down and on medications and getting a new diagnosis every week for her mental instability, my dad dating this new woman and looking for new jobs, and my mom dating Ernie kind of and all, I guess it makes sense, especially when you add in my graduation in December, grad school/jobs, moving in with my boss, and having half of my school getting engaged.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-6623119498133766394?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/6623119498133766394/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=6623119498133766394' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/6623119498133766394'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/6623119498133766394'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2010/11/i-sick-of-eating-alone.html' title='Alone in the Caf'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-5467800243862656531</id><published>2010-10-24T05:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-10-24T06:05:25.105-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sweet, but Bitter</title><content type='html'>Anyone who knows me somewhat generally figures out that I am constantly planning my wedding. Of course, I do not even have a boyfriend, but I still plan the details, such as flowers, menu, lighting/decoration, cake, photographer, etc. I love planning weddings.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;However, planning a fake wedding is very different from planning and/or attending a real wedding. Real weddings are not as much fun. In fact, although they are sweet, they are so bitter. I go mostly because I want to critique the event, not because I want to see a happy couple make a public statement of their commitment.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Weddings hurt. How on earth did this girl find a guy who she is attracted to, let alone can have a conversation with? I am glad for them, really. But I don't really want to have to witness them being happy. I suppose that is selfish or a sign of being wounded probably. It's not jealousy though. It's sadness.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I haven't been able to hear about someone falling in love or getting married and genuinely be happy and sadness-free since my break up with "he-who-must-not-be-named." In January, it will be two years since then. I want to be happy for my friends, but when I hear them bubbling over with happiness at something their boyfriend/fiancée/husband did, my heart doesn't automatically jump up, it sinks. Maybe once that doesn't happen, and my first reactions is to truly rejoice with them, then I will find someone.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I just have this sinking feeling that I will not get married until I am 30. Everyone tells me that is not true, that I am "ripe for the picking," or "such a catch" that it would be impossible for me to get married so late. But being nice and pretty or whatever has nothing to do getting married. It's about timing and finding the right person. Sure, lots of guys think I am nice and/or pretty, but how many of them can I carry on a conversation with, can love me and I them, are following God, and actually want to marry me and I them? Not any of them so far. And there is a good chance that all of those things won't align for a while, no matter how much a of a "catch" I am.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And it's not only that they have found a best friend with whom them want to do life with and start a family with, but they also get to have sex. I know, that seems rather trivial, but trying to wait until marriage is so hard once it feels like all of your friends have either a.) had sex, b.) are engaged and going to have sex soon, or c.) married and have had sex. It sucks. Major. There's no one to talk about it with, get excited about the wedding night with, or wonder about it or yearn for it with because everyone has done it and it's old news to them.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-5467800243862656531?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/5467800243862656531/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=5467800243862656531' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/5467800243862656531'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/5467800243862656531'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2010/10/sweet-but-bitter.html' title='Sweet, but Bitter'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-3754193312827002997</id><published>2010-09-30T19:34:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-10-01T06:56:28.049-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Stay At Home Mom</title><content type='html'>I totally want to be a stay at home mom after today. &lt;div&gt;My boss (I work as a nanny) went into emergency surgery today cus a drill bit went into her leg while she was putting up a shelf, so she asked me to take the kids and go grocery shopping, go on the field trip with the little girl, and make dinner for the family. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I loved it. I am ridiculously exhausted, but I love making a pot roast and the apple crisp and going to the apple orchard. I even made homemade hummus with red peppers for the little girl's lunch.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-3754193312827002997?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/3754193312827002997/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=3754193312827002997' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/3754193312827002997'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/3754193312827002997'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2010/09/i-totally-want-to-be-stay-at-home-mom.html' title='Stay At Home Mom'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-2178973323835791656</id><published>2010-09-18T19:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-09-18T20:06:35.885-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Need for Power, for Value</title><content type='html'>Most recent exciting news: I have mailed my deposit for a photo shoot to be a 1940's pin up girl (cheesecake style). I am pretty excited. It will be in Philly before the Holidays. I cannot express how psyched I am to do this! I am going to get two cute shots of me in a lacy night reading a letter (presumably from a boy in the war) and one of me in a dress to balance out the two more risque ones. It's a lot of money, but I have wanted it since high school and it seems like my 21st birthday/graduation is the perfect time for it!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*The following is psychological musings upon observing my sister's and my recent behavior*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In other news, I've been thinking a lot about my appearance, my relationships with guys, and how I get/hold the attention of men. It has a lot to do with the idea that has been subconsciously ingrained in me -that love is earned. I guess I try to earn love by creating a perfect body, by creating yummy things in the kitchen, by trying to be sexually exciting, by having nice clothes, by making good grades and doing well at work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It so often feels like the only way to get a guy to talk to me, to pay attention to me, (to show me I am worth something), is to somehow catch their imagination alluding to physical intimacy, whether that be through the way I dress, the shape of my body, or my abilities as a do It mestic goddess. It just seems like the only way to get a male's attention (or a response to text even) is to allude to sexual intimacy, or at least do something worthy of his time, which is usually sex-related with young men. I hate that I feel like I don't know how to get a guy's attention without talking somewhat like a flirt or talking about typically off-limits subjects.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The thought, "I wonder what guys would treat me like, if they would all still like me and ask me out, if I gained 20 pounds," has never run through my mind as much as it has lately. I think that is a good thing for my recovery from Ed, but it's still a sad thought.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Even the past few days I have been feeling like Jason has not been replying to my texts much or shown much interest in talking on the phone and the thought that he has lost interest keeps crossing my mind. My immediate response to whether he has lost interest or not is to want to send him a dirty text message to get him to reply. I haven't done it yet, because I don't want to have another relationship based on physical intimacy, but it's so hard not to. He says that he likes me and that my body is "just a really nice perk," but I don't know if I believe him. I don't think he has complimented me on anything but my body. It doesn't help that the idea of him losing interest makes me want to cling to him and hold his attention even more. It makes me needy for his attention. I wish it didn't. I know in my head I am valuable and don't need him, but why else would I crave attention so badly?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course, sex gives a girl control over the guy. Maybe this gets back to the control issue. Sex gives me control over guys when everything feels like it is getting out control because I feel like he isn't paying attention to me. Choosing what I eat (according to my counselor) gives me control when everything is out of control too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I even dreamed last night that I was waiting downstairs for Jason to talk me on a date while he was getting ready and showering. I had been waiting quite a while, so I went upstairs to check on him. The shower was running, he was not in it. He had kept the shower running to trick me into thinking he was still getting ready, but had actually gone into another room to play a video game. When I found him gaming, I tried to distract/seduce him, but he was only slightly interested. ....Even my dreams are screaming about this subject.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I want to tell Jason all of this, but I don't want him to freak out and think I am needy. I don't want him to take what I have said in an attempt to understand myself and for him to understand me, and then use it against me later on as if the faults that I pointed out in an effort to be honest were his own ideas and observations. I am afraid he will use my words against me. Alex did that.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-2178973323835791656?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/2178973323835791656/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=2178973323835791656' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/2178973323835791656'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/2178973323835791656'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2010/09/need-for-power-for-value.html' title='Need for Power, for Value'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-3664942103587752013</id><published>2010-08-28T18:43:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-09-18T19:42:21.234-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Can you say DRAMA?</title><content type='html'>So my roommate, S*, and my friend, J*, broke up last summer in early June, even though they had bought a ring and he was going to ask her to marry him. So then they didn't talk all of Fall semester and she didn’t even come back to college. Then, in the Spring, she came back to school and she and J*. S* was very upset because S* and J* weren't technically dating and he would occasionally go out with other girls, but she would sometimes and go out with other boys too and make J* mad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So then J* and S* decided to go to counseling together because S* said J* was being wishy-washy and they needed to know whether they could really work things out or not. By mid-semester, J* and S* were making out and going to 3rd base. Then, they "accidentally" went all the way one night. That was crazy and involved me sitting in the room during chapel with S* while she took Plan B that J* had gotten for her. S* freaked out and said she couldn’t be with J*. But a few days later they were back to talking and going on walks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So the pattern continues: one of them says no to dating, the other begs for the other to come back, the other comes back, one of them messes up, the other says no to dating, and lots of fighting ensues. The fighting really messes with the balance of our friend clique.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, so the summer rolls around eventually… They decide they will officially break up because they both have supposedly found other people during the summer and they stop talking. That seems fine and dandy until my entire group of friends (all 6 of us) decides we should go to the lake and chill for a week before school starts in honor of one of us graduating that past May. However, things cannot just be that simple. A few days before the trip, S* calls J* and tells him he shouldn’t drink that week because otherwise her sister (who is coming, apparently) won’t come and then S* won’t come without her sister. J* gets mad and tells S* that she just has to accept him how he is and that he doesn’t have the problem with alcohol that she thinks he does and that he isn’t going to quit smoking for her either. Well, S* cries and freaks out and ultimately doesn’t come to the lake "to make things easier on the group." Of course, S* ends up texting J* multiple times a day while we are at the lake.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So school starts up again last week and both J* and S* return. At first everying is fine and dandy and J* even helps move all of our stuff in. But then S* says it's too hard to be with him and around and complains that he won’t stop hugging and poking and flirting. She calls “it” (which was never official) off. However, J* sees that S* is still in love with him and he wants to keep trying and so writes her a beautiful letter asking S* to try again. She says no. But she really wants to because she still loves him and so they end up "doing stuff." But she still doesn’t want to date. J* is frustrated because she "refuses to be in love with him," in his words. He is also frustrated because she keeps SAYING she doesn’t to be with him, but he knows she loves him and that she does want to. But she knows that she shouldn’t and that she needs to be free of him. J* feels like he is being played and S* feels like J* isn’t playing fair.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So they night after J* professes his love and S* feels conflicted, J* goes on a date with some girl he used to date before he dated Sarah. That some night, S* finds a love note that is supposedly from J*’s car to S*’s car. The love note includes a proposal. Kind of weird. J* had written a fictional note from his car proposing to S*’s car! Oh, and then J* spends the entire next evening with this new girl too. So, understandably, S* is upset.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then today, me, 2 friend who are almost engaged, S*, and J* decide to go to the mall. Well, J*'s new girl shows up and hangs with us. S* is upset and acts totally weird and tries to be normal but is clearly ANGRY. And I am angry too at J* for being so stupid. So S* tries to rally herself and calls her sister's bf and his friend to come hang out with us. Result: S* and two boys and J* and his new girl, and me and B+B (B+B=the couple) are caught in the awkward middle.  We try to hang out, but it was the worst mall trip ever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the way home, J* insists on poking the back of S*'s head to try to flirt or something but it only makes S* cry and say "Please! Stop! PLEASE!" and then cry silently while we all sit there in awkwardness. J’s girl had gone home in her own car, btw.  So B+B drop us 3 off at the cafeteria and we three go in and have dinner in silence. J* and S* then leave the cafeteria together. I follow 3 minutes after them only to find them talking quietly and intensely outside my dorm. I ignore them and walk past and into my room. When I walk out to go get a coffee, I ignore them again. When I come back to my room, I continue to ignore them. When I leave yet again, I choose a different route.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I come back into the room and S* is sitting there crying, but I don't want to deal with it because my day has already been awful and whatever she has done is just going to happen again. So I grab my laptop and head out because I have a Skype date in 2 minutes and can’t Skype when she is crying in the room&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So S* texts me and asks why I am angry. I say that "I am not angry, I am disappointed and frustrated that something that should have ended a year ago is still going on and I have to watch the hurt it causes." Then she replies "I am very disappointed right now, you are the only friend I have on this campus right now and instead of being my friend you are ignoring and judging me. I don’t need or want you approval but I’d sure like you friendship."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I told her I had had a Skype date and I also did not want to interrupt her and J*. To which she said "You came to the room to get your laptop and you didn’t speak a word to me. The discussion with J* was over then. I’m getting out of there. I don’t know when I’ll be back."&lt;br /&gt;And I haven’t heard from her since.&lt;br /&gt;Living with her is ridiculous.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also, here’s a short story from earlier this week about S* and her broken heart:&lt;br /&gt;B+B are going to get married. They speak openly about it and even discuss the names of their future children at the dinner table with all of us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;B*female said something the other day along the lines of, "B*male and I have been dating over a year and once you're over a year, you can pretty much tell if he is the one or not." S* blurted out, "no you can't, the number is 22 months, if you can make it past 22 months, you can get married. You and B*male are still in a baby relationship." It pissed B*female off so much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;S*  was really indirectly venting about her and Jake and more mad that a relationship was working for someone else and not her, but it really hurt B*female. I mean, S* personally attacked B*female's relationship with vindictiveness she has continued to do so throughout this week. B+B aren't engaged. They aren't going to be engaged until next semester. They will not get married until they have been dating 30 months, actually. January 2012.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can relate to S* too though. It wasn't until April or May (an entire 16 months after becoming single) that I could look at a happy couple and not want to stone them&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-3664942103587752013?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/3664942103587752013/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=3664942103587752013' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/3664942103587752013'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/3664942103587752013'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2010/08/so-my-roommate-s-and-my-friend-j-broke.html' title='Can you say DRAMA?'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-5514711553281298904</id><published>2010-08-04T08:06:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-08-04T15:41:24.980-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Vajazzled! haha</title><content type='html'>My own mother just hung up on me. We were talking on the phone and she just hung up in anger. Confused? -First, remember that my mom is codependent. And that she has recently promised to make good on her promise t go to  much-needed counseling. So even when she finally agrees to go to  counseling, she wants to   do it to please someone else (me, sister, dad).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She was discussing with me her choice to go to counseling and asks me what  she should talk about with the counselor and what I think her issues are  that need to be dealt with. I told her that defeats the point of counseling and  she should do it herself and she was just being codependent.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That was when she hung up. Oh well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In other new, going to NYC and Longwood Gardens was fun this weekend, but Jason seemed to become obnoxious in NYC when around a group of people. It totally turned me off and I don't think I can be bf/gf. I am glad I discovered that before I committed to a long-distance relationship. Perhaps something will happen in the future, but I don't really see it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mary and I got Brazilian waxes and then Vajazzled! It was so much fun and we are so glad we got them done. Mine is a star.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-5514711553281298904?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/5514711553281298904/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=5514711553281298904' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/5514711553281298904'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/5514711553281298904'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2010/08/y-my-own-moter-just-hung-up-on-me.html' title='Vajazzled! haha'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-641083670220797079</id><published>2010-07-27T10:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-27T11:16:25.807-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Full Schedule, in a good way</title><content type='html'>Traffic in this area hates me. When I drove to Philly the weekend before last, it took roughly 2 hours longer than it should have. Coming back, it only took an hour longer. But the time in Philly was totally worth it. Jason took me to the art museum in Philly and then down by the water behind the museum. It was very romantic, but I didn't let him kiss me, though it was very obvious he wanted to. I didn't want to kiss him unless we were officially in a relationship.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, that did not last long, because I kissed him Sunday afternoon while we were watching a movie. He had been trying so hard to control himself while we made lunch together (chicken tacos) that I couldn't help it and just gave in. His reaction was great, haha. He was not expecting it at all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nothing much happened the rest of the week. I went to work and literally did nothing. On Friday, Bekah and I went to a political comedy show, then went to some of the museums in DC Saturday afternoon. That evening, Jason came over for dinner and we walked around the national mall where he asked me to be his girlfriend and I said that I needed more time. I got burned pretty badly last time I got into a relationship and I want to be sure of it this time. Actually, what I really want is to be in love with someone before I enter into an official relationship with them. Is that too much to ask? I feel like it is possible, btu I don't know if it is fair. I might end up dragging Jason around and never fall in love with him. I do like him though.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He and I are going to try to meet up in Baltimore Thursday night to go dancing and I'm pretty nervous, since I've never been to a nightclub. I don't think the cowboy one counts in Orlando as a "real" nightclub. Also, when Mary comes into DC this weekend, Jason and his friends are planning on taking Mary and I to NYC on Sunday, then Philly Monday. On Tuesday, I'll get around to taking Mary into DC and then Wednesday will probably be Old Town and such. It's gonna be a full weekend =).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and Jason got tickets for me and him to see Kings of Leon Thursday, August 5. They are lawn seats, which Jason says he likes 'cus you can sit on a blanket and talk and let the concert be more background.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-641083670220797079?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/641083670220797079/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=641083670220797079' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/641083670220797079'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/641083670220797079'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2010/07/full-schedule-in-good-way.html' title='Full Schedule, in a good way'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-1606449612114875119</id><published>2010-07-24T06:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-24T06:27:38.591-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Not a Funny Dream</title><content type='html'>I think my worst fears have shifted, which is both exciting and sad.&lt;br /&gt;First, the fact that there are other fears competing with my fear of gaining weight is great for my recovery, but that one of those competing fears is that my sister will commit suicide is quite unsettling. I dreamed last night that my mom and I were walking around our neighborhood on an evening stroll. We were talking about how we had not seen Mary in a couple of days when a neighbor kid said, "I know where she is..." and took us to a lake in someone's backyard. He then said that her body would come up to the surface in a few minutes. It became clear to my mom and I what had happened and I fell to me knees and began to hysterically scream and cry, but I was so upset I could not even make a sound or move.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When she came up, she was alive and started laughing at the "funny" joke she had played on us. I am so glad that was only a dream.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-1606449612114875119?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/1606449612114875119/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=1606449612114875119' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/1606449612114875119'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/1606449612114875119'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2010/07/not-funny-dream.html' title='Not a Funny Dream'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-4508277875479180491</id><published>2010-07-13T14:40:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-15T07:00:18.901-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Date in DC</title><content type='html'>Last night I had a date ith a friend of a friend. He is from Philly and he met me when he visited my friend in KY and went to Riverhouse Prom. I also met him when he came to pick me up to bring me to the Jersey shore for 4th of July weekend (just a few hours after I got into the DC area and unpacked).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He took me to Georgetown to a nice restaurant in Georgetown with white linen table cloths and nothing under $20 on the menu. After dinner, we walked around and explored some shops, then got icecream and walked down by the river. He got me home around 9:30pm and it was a nice evening overall.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, when we got back to my place, his car wouldn't start and it began to pour buckets. It was exactly like a torrential downpour in Florida, almost hurricane-like. Eventually we got his car started, but then my battery was drained and he couldn't get mine started again. It was still raining and I was in my PJs watching from the apartment stairwell and eating cereal. I felt bad and so offered the couch in my apartment to him. He spent the night and tried to get my car started in the morning. Miracle of miracles, my car started in the morning. Apparently, due to the rain and darkness and stress, he hadn't connected my battery correctly to the cables the night before when he had tried to jump it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He offered to drive me to the metro so I did not have to take the bus, since I had let him sleep on the couch and he didn't have work that day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I might see him this weekend. I am thinking about driving to Philly Saturday evening and going to church with him on Sunday morning. He is an outgoing kind of guy who seems to be the life of the party and is always doing crazy stuff. At the same time, he is a devoted Christian and has no problem speaking about his personal relationship with Christ or the changes that God is making in him. He also is a pre-law student, wants to be a constitutional lawyer, and pays for a lot himself (car, gas, insurance, enterntainment, etc). I wish he was a little more in shape. He is kind of on the heavy-side.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My mom says to give it 6 dates and then make a decision. I am definitely on the fence. I don't feel any crazy magnetism towards him or desire to be physically intimate with him, but idk if that's a sign of much. I just don't want to lead him on though.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-4508277875479180491?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/4508277875479180491/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=4508277875479180491' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/4508277875479180491'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/4508277875479180491'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2010/07/b-last-night-i-had-date-ith-friend-of.html' title='Date in DC'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-2607586003306409700</id><published>2010-06-28T17:34:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-15T07:03:06.309-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Daddy's Little Princess</title><content type='html'>Today, my dad stuck up for me and yelled at the guy at the gym who strong armed me and lied to me to get me to sign up for a gym membership. I had given up hope of him ever acting protective. But today, for the first time in my life, I felt like Daddy's Little Princess.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-2607586003306409700?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/2607586003306409700/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=2607586003306409700' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/2607586003306409700'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/2607586003306409700'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2010/06/today-my-dad-stuck-up-for-me-and-yelled.html' title='Daddy&apos;s Little Princess'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-4381093670164640095</id><published>2010-06-16T09:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-16T09:15:51.758-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The gods...</title><content type='html'>The gods just might be laughing at me right now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They must have spotted me buying my first white skirt and then sneakily kept an eye on my wardrobe for the past weeks, just waiting for the day I would wear my $80, pure white, pencil skirt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Luckily, I chose to wear a slip today, which has now saved me from the embarassment of a large red stain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope the gods feel cheated.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-4381093670164640095?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/4381093670164640095/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=4381093670164640095' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/4381093670164640095'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/4381093670164640095'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2010/06/gods.html' title='The gods...'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-6736865744690610339</id><published>2010-05-31T17:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-31T17:55:06.372-07:00</updated><title type='text'>So Not Cool.</title><content type='html'>Saturday night I got a text from Austin asking to take me to dinner and to talk. I kinda figured he was either gonna ask to date me officially, or he was going to break it off. It was the latter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We went to dinner and at the cash register, he didn't go for his wallet, but neither did I. The girl at the counter asked if it was going to be together or separate and he awkwardly fumbled so I said "together" and look at him, since he was the one who asked me out to talk. I have paid for everything or we have gone dutch, so I decided he could pay for this one. I feel especially good about my decision to make him pay now that I know he was planning on breaking it off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He started by saying that he had underestimated how much I liked him. He then said that introverts and extroverts do not have lasting relationships and he could never be with an introvert like me. I asked him what he thought I did to act like an introvert and he replied "you are happy being alone, you like to read, and you want to be an intelligence analyst."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I said that it was ok and that he was making this harder than he needed to with his explanations and reasoning (which was BS, btw). I also said that I still thought it was a bad idea for him to hang out with his ex. His response was to begin gushing about how much she had changed from when they broke up, how she was in love with God and just wanted to spend all her time with Him, how she had told Austin that she didn't need him anymore. He swore that he had been thinking of breaking it off with me before Alyssa started speaking to him again... Even IF he had thought about it before, I believe Alyssa was a huge catalyst that might not have inspired him to break it off if she hadn't come back into the picture. He still swears he doesn't like her "like that," but I don't believe him. I ended up texting his mom to come and pick him up at the restaurant. I detested the idea of giving him a ride home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It doesn't matter anyway. He obviously was not interest enough to make it last, so I guess I am better off in the long run without him.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-6736865744690610339?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/6736865744690610339/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=6736865744690610339' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/6736865744690610339'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/6736865744690610339'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2010/05/so-not-cool.html' title='So Not Cool.'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-2314107570530843618</id><published>2010-05-29T09:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-29T10:00:22.892-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Scary.</title><content type='html'>Btw, I needed to talk to someone last night when I texted Austin 'cus, the way my sister is acting, it seems like it might be a good idea to institutionalize her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p id="msg_135001230_1218038350" class="p_self pic_padding"&gt;She gets upset  over everything to the point that she threatens suicide when she finds  out she won't have her car for a week because the radiator is gone (even  though my mom said she'd pay for the radiator to be fixed, $2-3,000). I should say that my sister drove into a rushing river of water at 35mph or so during a Florida torrential downpour, which tore off her front bumper and ruined her radiator as the bumper scraped under the car.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p id="msg_135001230_2000750702" class="p_self pic_padding"&gt;She refuses to  ride in the same car as me or my mom, so if we go anywhere, we always  have to take 2-3 cars. She wouldn't even ride with my mom when my mom went to get my g-ma's car for her. My mom had to ask her boyfriend to drive up with her so she could drive the car back home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p id="msg_135001230_4161770439" class="p_self pic_padding"&gt;When she gets  really stressed, she'll either have panic attacks or she will rock back  and forth and compulsively grab her hands over and over. Sometimes she'll scream about how she thinks no one likes her ("not even the shrink, who I pay!"), how she thinks she is fat, how she always messes up and how she thinks I am perfect for some reason.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p id="msg_135001230_4100693951" class="p_self pic_padding"&gt;She has  anti-anxiety medicine. She is only supposed to be taking 4 pills at a  time. She took 12 yesterday (I mean, it won't hurt her, but still...). She threatens  suicide every few weeks.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p id="msg_135001230_2502234550" class="p_self pic_padding"&gt;We had to get the doctor to sign a form saying she is mentally unsound so that she could get a teacher to bring  school to her at home, since she hates school so much and got suspended because she refused to take off her hat and because she missed so many days her credits were going to be revoked if she didn't do community service.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p id="msg_135001230_2502234550" class="p_self pic_padding"&gt;My mom keeps giving into her (fixing her car, borrowing my g-ma's car so she isn't car-less next week, selling the house to send her to boarding school). Not giving in and finding that she is dead is horrible, but giving in to her does not help either. I don't see many options.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-2314107570530843618?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/2314107570530843618/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=2314107570530843618' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/2314107570530843618'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/2314107570530843618'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2010/05/scary.html' title='Scary.'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-5099482834395355589</id><published>2010-05-29T09:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-29T09:11:20.457-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Ex or Bestfriend?</title><content type='html'>&lt;p id="msg_135001230_2558441966" class="p_self pic_padding"&gt;I told you about Austin, right? and how we had a DTR a  couple weeks ago?&lt;br /&gt;-Well, he dated  his "bestfriend" and broke up with her in December, right? He has complained to me before that he wasn't heartbroken because he lost his love, but that he was extremely sad and lonely because he lost his bestfriend. To me, your gf'/love should be your bestfriend, so I don't really differentiate between what he says. He was heart broken, in my opinion.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p id="msg_135001230_2558441966" class="p_self pic_padding"&gt; Well, back to my story, that  "bestfriend" didn't talk to him for 5 months after breaking up, then she suddenly decided on Wednesday  night to call him up and talk for 2 hours like nothing happened. He  texted me about it and how excited he was that he "got [his] bestfriend  back."&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p id="msg_135001230_2284682961" class="p_self pic_padding"&gt;I decided to  keep my mouth shut and ignore it cus it will probably pass over anyway.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p id="msg_135001230_503088717" class="p_self  pic_padding"&gt;I was willing to let it slide, to just let him figure out she isn't good for him on his own. But last  night my sister had a melt down and I really needed to talk to someone. Around 5 or 6pm I  texted him that I needed to vent and talk to someone and asked if I could  come over. He said "hahah, I guess," clearly not grasping how serious I was. So I said,  "yes? I can come over then?" He never replied.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p id="msg_135001230_2745642246" class="p_self  pic_padding"&gt;I texted him a few hours later to ask what he was up to  and he replied that he was at Alyssa's house (his "bestfriend") baking  cookies.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p id="msg_135001230_1207157428" class="p_self pic_padding"&gt;I told him that I needed to talk to him. When he finally called me at 1am, I told him that I know I  have no right to be jealous, since he and I are not dating, but that we  did promise to explore whether we wanted to court. He says they are just friends, but he doesn't get it. He doesn't understand  that it really is impossible for a girl and a guy (who have dated and gone as far as he went with her) to completely be  "just friends."&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p id="msg_135001230_1207157428" class="p_self pic_padding"&gt;Even if he CAN be just friends with her, it is not appropriate  or fair to me. It is also just not smart. No matter how good of friends they were. I don't care. He needs to respect me if he is going to be serious about thinking about courting.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p id="msg_135001230_1207157428" class="p_self pic_padding"&gt;I think I am  gonna cut him off. I don't want to. But I also can't be his "back pocket  girl", especially not for a 17 year old. I need to draw a line and have boundaries; I also need to respect myself. Continuing to hang out with him when he hangs out with his ex/best friend does not show self-respect. One could argue that I don't trust him, but I don't think he should be putting me in this specific position that "forces" trust.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-5099482834395355589?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/5099482834395355589/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=5099482834395355589' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/5099482834395355589'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/5099482834395355589'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2010/05/ex-or-bestfriend.html' title='Ex or Bestfriend?'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-7544398671294554132</id><published>2010-05-24T09:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-24T09:37:30.208-07:00</updated><title type='text'>On a scale of...</title><content type='html'>On a scale of -10 to +10, 0 being neutral, -10 being the feeling of causing the death of your entire family, +10 is winning $10 trillion and solving world hunger:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How I feel when I make out with someone I don't love: -6/7.&lt;br /&gt;How I feel when I make the right decision to not go along with a booty call: 1, maybe a 2.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why can't I feel just as ecstatic about doing the godly thing as I feel bad about doing the wrong thing?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The only thing that really kept me from going with my friend last night was that it wasn't fair to Austin.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-7544398671294554132?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/7544398671294554132/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=7544398671294554132' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/7544398671294554132'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/7544398671294554132'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2010/05/on-scale-of.html' title='On a scale of...'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-5749864613185949280</id><published>2010-05-20T20:25:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-20T20:25:53.452-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Omgosh, I saw the musical Spring Awakening tonight and it was such a fantastic show. I thought it was going to be crude, since the entire story focuses on teens, coming of age, and sexuality, but it was really good!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-5749864613185949280?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/5749864613185949280/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=5749864613185949280' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/5749864613185949280'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/5749864613185949280'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2010/05/omgosh-i-saw-musical-spring-awakening.html' title=''/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-5705381165428982079</id><published>2010-05-16T20:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-16T21:00:30.271-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pic for the Curious</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_w0CR8VQ1Aok/S_C_ETc1F-I/AAAAAAAAApk/hB_vtoI2oRE/s1600/IMG_1718.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_w0CR8VQ1Aok/S_C_ETc1F-I/AAAAAAAAApk/hB_vtoI2oRE/s320/IMG_1718.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472083627916728290" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_w0CR8VQ1Aok/S_C-uNdLbxI/AAAAAAAAApc/zrBwyZeRL1Y/s1600/IMG_1691.JPG"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Btw, here is a pic of Austin and me at Jr-Sr. Not the best pic ever, but w/e.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-5705381165428982079?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/5705381165428982079/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=5705381165428982079' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/5705381165428982079'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/5705381165428982079'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2010/05/pic-for-curious.html' title='Pic for the Curious'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_w0CR8VQ1Aok/S_C_ETc1F-I/AAAAAAAAApk/hB_vtoI2oRE/s72-c/IMG_1718.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-902897543829627993</id><published>2010-05-16T20:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-16T20:50:24.276-07:00</updated><title type='text'>One Good DTR</title><content type='html'>Austin and I had a Define The Relationship (DTR) tonight and discussed everything. I mean long distance, him being in school, me graduating, dating, courting, the age thing, our pasts, w/e else you can think of. We decided we are not dating. We kind of also decided on an intentionally spending time together in order to evaluate the possibility of courting once he graduates (from high school).&lt;br /&gt;Also, we went to Starbucks to talk and as soon as we got there, when we were ordering, the Barista said, "you two are such a good looking couple." All I could think of was, "omgosh, could she have picked a more awkward time to say that???"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-902897543829627993?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/902897543829627993/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=902897543829627993' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/902897543829627993'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/902897543829627993'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2010/05/one-good-dtr.html' title='One Good DTR'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-4401848740508909125</id><published>2010-05-12T10:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-12T10:37:39.137-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Summer Time and Internships</title><content type='html'>Ok, So&lt;em&gt; &lt;/em&gt;I definitely owe this blog a post.&lt;br /&gt;Everything got so crazy with final papers and exams (and getting them done early so I could relax and enjoy being with my friends).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Real quick update:&lt;br /&gt;I have suddenly realized that there might actually be a chance that I could fall for Austin.&lt;br /&gt;Austin flew up to KY to take me to the formal and was so polite and positive.&lt;br /&gt;The triathlon is in just 11 days (Austin is running it with me).&lt;br /&gt;I picked up my road bike and am loving it.&lt;br /&gt;My internship with Orlando has begun well. I am mostly doing PR stuff so far.&lt;br /&gt;I will be going to DC for July and half of August for internship with my state representative.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As to what I am thinking about...&lt;br /&gt;People never grow up. Even when they are 50 and in meetings, they still act like they did in high school.&lt;br /&gt;Also, I don't think anyone ever actually feels like an adult&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-4401848740508909125?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/4401848740508909125/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=4401848740508909125' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/4401848740508909125'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/4401848740508909125'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2010/05/summer-time-and-internships.html' title='Summer Time and Internships'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-3297771470035146256</id><published>2010-04-22T04:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-22T06:17:39.553-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Free*Indeed</title><content type='html'>Sometimes I really don't like God.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My roommate was explaining the other night about how her sister feels called by God to go to this college in Texas, but that her sister doesn't really want to go there. My roommate doesn't really believe strongly that it is God calling her sister to Texas because my roommate believes that "God gives you a passion for His callings." I had to disagree with my roommate. God has called me to do plenty of things I didn't want to (go to Lyman, enroll at Asbury, work at KAA, etc.).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;God has been speaking to me for the past month or so about exercise. Why does He have to do that? I have been trying really hard (with the 5 weeks on and the 6th week off) and then He comes in and says I need to do more than I could possibly handle. He's been asking me to give it up to Him indefinitely -not just for a week at a time. I have begged Him not to ask this of me. I have told him outright that I refuse to. He still keeps asking. I have cried on the floor of my dorm room, telling him that I cannot do it, that I need an end-date to look forward to at least. He has not given me a time period, just a command. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I know I am being foolish, refusing to give up something so small as exercise to the one who died on a cross for me and loves me more than I can ever imagine, but giving up exercise is the scariest and worst thing he could ask of me. I am scared out of my mind. It's all I think about. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He first brought the idea up about a month and a half ago during a quiet time when I was preparing for a 6th week off. I was so upset at the idea that I cried.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I kind of forgot about it for a few weeks, then He brought it up again when Kevin preached at the Vineyard about following God's steps and how we cannot hear from Him as we ought if we have not followed his last instruction (Vineyard: Eyes Wide Open: Seeing the Light. 4/11/10). I knew I needed to do something, but I quickly let myself forget about it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I forgot about it for a while. It only nudged me in chapel and church and I easily brushed it away. However, last night I was at Worship on the Green (a big worship band plays songs for 2 hours on the green in the middle of campus) and I tried to be honest with God. I told him I was scared, that I didn't want to. I told him I wanted to follow him, but that I wished there was some other way to become fully his. I knew the logic in His request and that no one can serve two masters, but there had to be a way out. I probably would have left the green and just forgotten about His request again, but then something happened.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This guy got up and gave his testimony about God's work in his life the past semester. He spoke of how he had made a decision to give everything to God and how he woke up every morning practically in tears because he is so scared of life without the things God asked him to give up. He talked about God's faithfulness, how wonderful and frightening it is to leave the very thing that makes us who we think we are. As he stood on stage, I began to cry and knew I needed to thank the guy for being so brave and confessing the Lord on stage. I went to find him and started crying as I tried to tell him how much his words meant to me, that God spoke through him to me. He was so encouraging. He is the first person (and only, so far) that I have told about what God is asking me to do and how freaking scared out of my mind I am.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;After Worship on the Green, I went to my hall Bible study (my roommate leads it). We are going through the book Crazy Love and last night's chapter was all about people who actually live radically and do crazy things out of love (God's love). The author talked about people who did things that seem radical to the world, like inviting prostitutes, pimps, druggies into their house and showing them God's love. He mentioned people who learn a new language and move to Papua New Guinea to share the gospel, people who sell their houses and give all of the proceeds to the church, lawyers who give up their million dollar jobs and move to Nicaragua to  minister to the people who live in the garbage dump. Those people do radical things and inspire others. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I know it may sound selfish or shallow, but I feel like what God is asking me to do is just as radical as the people the author spoke of. I am confident that it is just as scary and feels just as life-threatening for me to follow Him as it was for them. Heck, it might be more scary for me than it was for them.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Goodness, I sound so shallow and stupid. For anyone else, giving up exercise is not a life-or-death thing, but it is for me. I don't think anyone could understand unless they have personally known Ed.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;-------------------&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;One thing I feel like I need to add is the weird understanding I feel like I have with men who struggle with homosexuality. Honestly, when the guy who gave his testimony on the green was talking to me about how it felt to give his desires to God and commit to following Him, his description sounded exactly like my own struggle. When he described what his homosexual actions/thoughts did for him, it was like he was talking for me. The same goes for his fears, the tension between what he knows and what he feels. I feel like we have the same struggle, but his has chosen to take the external form of homosexuality and mine is embodied in the form of Ed.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have felt that way with my struggle and my father's own issues for some time now. I haven't told anyone, but I also feel like my recovery and my father's liberation are somehow connected.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-3297771470035146256?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/3297771470035146256/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=3297771470035146256' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/3297771470035146256'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/3297771470035146256'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2010/04/sometimes-i-really-dont-like-god.html' title='Free*Indeed'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-4917416596474133669</id><published>2010-04-18T07:36:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-18T07:39:24.568-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Excited to Cycle</title><content type='html'>After much deliberation, research, and awkward 10 mile bike rides through Kentucky's rolling hills on my hybrid bike, I am proud to say that I have finally purchased my first real road bike.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My baby is a lovely, 52cm Scott Contessa Speedster 25, a good entry level road bike that is upgradeable. St. Johns Cycles in Sanford, Florida helped me find her and they are even throwing in a few free things (water bottle cages, a bag for underneath the saddle).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I will pick my baby up on May 4, when I come home to Florida after finals. That's just in time to get some practice in before the triathlon. Woohoo.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The bike is listed for $879.99 on the Scott website, but most places (including St. Johns) sell it for $799. My mom is gonna give me $300 for Trek hybrid, since I paid $300 for it and she is crazy generous. I asked my dad for some help and he said he would match my mom -I think I am gonna make dinner for him a few nights a week for a while so that I don't feel like  I am a total mooch.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-4917416596474133669?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/4917416596474133669/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=4917416596474133669' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/4917416596474133669'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/4917416596474133669'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2010/04/excited-to-cycle.html' title='Excited to Cycle'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-8878164998732508772</id><published>2010-04-16T10:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-16T10:20:42.351-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Tragic.</title><content type='html'>Recent Realization: My dad had to lose everything in order to go through the hard work of changing. "Everything" was his marriage/family. What's sad is that, if my mom had stayed with him, he never would have changed and he would still be the selfish husband who doesn't love and the disconnected father who doesn't give his time or attention. But, because my mom divorced him, he finally committed to real change.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Of course, the dilmemna of "divorce and he'll change" and "stay and he'll still be unfaithful/unloving" means that:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;a.) Mom goes through the crap that comes with divorce and ends up alone, but her ex husband changes and becomes a better man for someone new&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;b.) Mom stays and puts up with a man who is unfaithful and does not love her or her kids enough to make any sacrifice at all&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I mean, I think choice "a" is better in the long run, but it sucks 'cus she ends up alone and has to see her husband become a better man only after she divorces him. But he wouldn't have changed and become better if she had stayed. She stayed with him 30 years and he didn't change. I am fully confident that divorce was the only thing that would have ever made him change.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Why is it that what my mom wanted to happen (my dad to change) couldn't happen if she was still with him? As soon as she leaves him, he changes; she knew it would happen. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-8878164998732508772?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/8878164998732508772/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=8878164998732508772' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/8878164998732508772'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/8878164998732508772'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2010/04/tragic.html' title='Tragic.'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-5897691871321877062</id><published>2010-04-11T13:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-11T14:13:16.600-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Dream House</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_w0CR8VQ1Aok/S8I6Z3MZovI/AAAAAAAAApM/lIGvG3HtNuE/s1600/entryway+2.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;u&gt;This will be an ongoing post of things I want in a dream house. I will add to it every once in a while.&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I want a wall that is covered/wallpapered with light-colored maps, preferably in the mudroom that will connect the garage and the kitchen&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I love brick or stone exteriors, especially with a creeping vine growing up them&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Open floor plans are nice&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'd like a huge circular table for normal meals and entertaining (8 people around). Maybe a small barstool, high table for more intimate or for quick meals. The round table will be designed like a Sticks kitchen table (wise sayings carved into the border, a simplistic scene of houses and nature carved onto the inner part, perhaps a lazy Susan in the middle. The table would be in a round bay window area with a semi-circle bench on the window side.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I want a long, Pullman kitchen. Preferably of light color with a nice view.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I love windows, but I also want walls on which I can decorate. I always thought it would be neat to have the living room on the first floor and have a simple catwalk/balcony along its perimeter on the second floor (great for parties and entertaining).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I would like the master bedroom to be downstairs and the kids' bedrooms upstairs, but I do not want to hear the kids' noisy sleepovers and such while I sleep, so I do not want the master bedroom right next to the living room.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;A secret room would be sooo sweet, but not absolutely necessary.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A garage apartment or a basement apartment that is accessible from the outside, if I ever wanted to rent it out or provide housing for someone.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Adequate land around the house.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;One of those vine covered trellis walkways from the garage to the house or the house to the summer kitchen (down by the lake?)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;A summer porch, on the second story, with a hammock or a bed&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;An outdoor shower so I can see the stars &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;In the indoor shower, I want to have a glass ceiling that is also raised a few inches above the rest of the ceiling so that it's like placing a bottomless, short glass box on top of the shower. It would provide the illusion of an outdoor shower.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_w0CR8VQ1Aok/S8I6Z3MZovI/AAAAAAAAApM/lIGvG3HtNuE/s1600/entryway+2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_w0CR8VQ1Aok/S8I6Z3MZovI/AAAAAAAAApM/lIGvG3HtNuE/s320/entryway+2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458989914313564914" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 287px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_w0CR8VQ1Aok/S8I6ZoiZ4lI/AAAAAAAAApE/II1j0oYdBT0/s1600/entryway+1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_w0CR8VQ1Aok/S8I6ZoiZ4lI/AAAAAAAAApE/II1j0oYdBT0/s320/entryway+1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458989910379323986" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 287px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-5897691871321877062?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/5897691871321877062/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=5897691871321877062' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/5897691871321877062'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/5897691871321877062'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2010/04/dream-house.html' title='Dream House'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_w0CR8VQ1Aok/S8I6Z3MZovI/AAAAAAAAApM/lIGvG3HtNuE/s72-c/entryway+2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-7487418583762363915</id><published>2010-04-11T12:58:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-11T13:01:16.420-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pretty Houses</title><content type='html'>Talking to my friend on Facebook chat today, we somehow got onto the topic of houses.&lt;div&gt;He said, &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px; "&gt;"i love vines on houses... gives real character... vines+stone+porch+bay windows= perfect house." &lt;/span&gt;I love this kid. He's single, has my taste in houses and we have similar views (though not always eye to eye) on most things. Too bad he is still 17. I'll give him time to grow up, but then I am totally going after him, haha. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;P.S.&lt;br /&gt;He also likes to cook and bake. He made this arugula and feta stuffed chicken and a beautiful chocolate cake with white icing and thinly sliced strawberries on top the other night Did I mention that he likes to be active and has agreed to run the triathlon with me?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-7487418583762363915?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/7487418583762363915/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=7487418583762363915' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/7487418583762363915'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/7487418583762363915'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2010/04/pretty-houses.html' title='Pretty Houses'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-8413525126303538240</id><published>2010-04-09T09:45:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-10T10:25:29.995-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Triathlon vs. Recovery</title><content type='html'>So I told my nutritionist about the triathlon and she didn't sound thrilled. She wants me to do some hw/ journaling, about my workouts the next two weeks and then discuss the triathlon with her. I suppose it is a pretty stupid thing to do durin recovery. It gives me an "excuse" to workout more.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-8413525126303538240?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/8413525126303538240/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=8413525126303538240' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/8413525126303538240'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/8413525126303538240'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2010/04/so-i-told-my-nutritionist-about.html' title='Triathlon vs. Recovery'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-8387366304538973965</id><published>2010-04-09T09:40:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-16T10:32:20.788-07:00</updated><title type='text'>2 Week Exercise Log</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;p face="Calibri" size="11.0pt" style="margin:0in;"&gt;&lt;u&gt;Questions to ask after/during Work Out&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="margin:0in;font-family:Calibri;font-size:11.0pt;"&gt;Energy&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;level&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p face="Calibri" size="11.0pt" style="margin:0in;"&gt;Clarity level&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p face="Calibri" size="11.0pt" style="margin:0in;"&gt;Muscle soreness&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="margin:0in;font-family:Calibri;font-size:11.0pt"&gt;Muscle fatigue (that day or the next day)&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="margin:0in;font-family:Calibri;font-size:11.0pt"&gt;Pain, knees or ankles?&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="margin:0in;font-family:Calibri;font-size:11.0pt"&gt;Freedom to stop, start&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="margin:0in;margin-left:.375in;font-family:Calibri;font-size:11.0pt"&gt;At what level does it take me hostage?&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="margin:0in;font-family:Calibri;font-size:11.0pt"&gt;Sense of enjoyment&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="margin:0in;font-family:Calibri;font-size:11.0pt"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:Georgia, serif;font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:16px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:Calibri;font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:15px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;4-8. Exercise: swam 2500 and wanted to do more, but didn't have time. Felt energized afterward and good during.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4-9. Exercise: swam 2000. Neutral whether to go more, but needed to get to work. Hungry even after full breakfast at 8:45am, so ate lunch at 11am.&lt;p&gt;Both mornings (4-8 and 4-9) I felt angry and wanted to work harder than usual because of unwanted dreams about my ex (not sexual, he was just rude).&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;4-10. Movement: 1850yd swim, 45 minute spin class, 1.5 mile run. Muscles sore from 3 sets of 3 pull ups on Thursday (always hits me 48 hours after, not the next day).&lt;br /&gt;Energy level felt good at during swim and beginning of spin class. Did not feel light headed, but was tired at about 2 minutes into run. Ran for another 13 minutes or so though in order to reach half of the distance that I would be running in the triathlon.&lt;br /&gt;At the beginning of the morning I had wanted to go 2.6 miles, but settled for 1.5 once I started running and felt worn.&lt;br /&gt;Although I had a good work out after spinning, I still wanted to run a bit since I had decided to do all 3 sports the night before. I believe if I had felt exhausted, I would not have gotten on the treadmill, I did give myself that permission. Got off treadmill feeling good and enjoyed stretching. I enjoyed swimming and spinning; I don't think I enjoyed running, it was a neutral.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;4-12. Swam 2500. Didn't record feelings.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;4-13. Movement: Ran 40 minutes or so. Felt good, no muscle soreness or fatigue, didn't even push self too hard on the uphill parts. Listened to sermon and felt focused, ready for day. Slight pain in right knee the day before and this morning, so took a Rx anti-inflammatory 30 minutes before run and didn't feel pain while running. Didn't take a watch or phone with me on purpose so that I would run based on feeling, not time/distance. Thought I "should" go 3 laps at park, but decided 2 felt better.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;4-14. Swam 2500. Didn't record feelings.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;4-15. Movement: Biked 10 miles in the morning, lifted weights in the evening. Biking felt great; beautiful sunrise, cool temperatures. Wanted to go farther 'cus I felt good, but had to get back to get ready for class.&lt;br /&gt;When I lifted weights though, I felt out of it, kind of in a daze. I reasoned that it was probably because I just found out (and was upset) about the rough conditions that I would be living in if I went to India. By the end of lifting, I felt better and relaxed.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;4-16. Movement: Swim 2500 yards. Woke up feeling good and planning to spin, but decided I wanted to swim instead. When I got to the gym's pool, I felt tired, but I had already driven into town and didn't want to waste the gas. After my first 1000, felt good. When I got to the end of my 2500, I wanted to go further because I felt invigorated and excited, but stopped because I had agreed that I would go no more than 2500. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-8387366304538973965?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/8387366304538973965/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=8387366304538973965' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/8387366304538973965'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/8387366304538973965'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2010/04/4-8.html' title='2 Week Exercise Log'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-4106363268670858059</id><published>2010-03-30T16:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-30T16:36:29.321-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Boarding School, Marriage</title><content type='html'>The boarding school my sister has been considering called her the other night and let her know that she got a HUGE scholarship. Such a large scholarship that would enable my sister to live in Tennessee for most of the year is apparently a deciding factor in whether my mom will marry Ernie. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My mom is planning on selling her house and finding a new home with Ernie.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She doesn't love him. She has admitted that. She is marrying him because he is nice, safe, and financially well-off. Really, those are the only reasons. No love whatsoever.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Now that my mom doesn't have to worry (in her mind) about how her living with Ernie will affect marry 'cus Mary is going to boarding school, my mom can marry him.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-4106363268670858059?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/4106363268670858059/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=4106363268670858059' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/4106363268670858059'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/4106363268670858059'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2010/03/boarding-school-marriage.html' title='Boarding School, Marriage'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-7194261865947110008</id><published>2010-03-21T07:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-21T07:55:40.481-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Not My Own</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, whom you have from God? YOU ARE NOT YOUR OWN, for you were bought with a price. So glorify God in your body. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;1 Corinthians 6:19-20 &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;I was on my knees this morning, praying to God and feeling so unworthy. I didn't even want to ask for forgiveness -I have fallen so many times in the same place, the same sin, knowing what I was doing and not caring how it affected Him or my soul at the time of the act. I barely talked to Him during the 5 weeks I was allowed to exercise, but of course I run to him and spend hours with Him during my weeks I take off exercise because I can't do it without him. I feel like scum for only spending time with Him when I can so clearly see my need for him, when I don't have my crutch of exercise to lean on.  I told Him all of that and then asked Him if there was anyway I could get out of no-exercise this week. I said I didn't think it was really a big deal and I could just do it every 8 weeks instead of every 6 weeks and that the past week had been very hard even when I was exercising.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;I then read My Upmost For His Highest's entry today. It was all about completely giving our lives to Christ and how there is no way to truly follow Him and glorify Him without doing so -or at least, that is what I got out of March 21's entry. It was a pretty clear answer, "No Amy, you cannot exercise this week. Your body is not yours and you have no right to do what you want with it. It is mine and I love you. In order to serve me completely and to know me, you must give your body and your desires to do what you want with your body to me, so that you can find complete freedom in me and that you can walk in the ways that I have planned for you. There is no way around it; you either trust me with everything (including your body), or you don't."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;I need His help this week. I am in awe of the idea that He loves me so much and cares for me, even when I constantly run from Him and spit in His face. He will give me His strength, His faith, and I have no idea why. I am so undeserving, but He continues to give.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; color: rgb(85, 85, 85); "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-7194261865947110008?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/7194261865947110008/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=7194261865947110008' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/7194261865947110008'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/7194261865947110008'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2010/03/not-my-own.html' title='Not My Own'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-6256075009772645039</id><published>2010-03-17T16:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-17T16:43:10.856-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Self Respect</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px; "&gt;I could never kiss Austin. Not now, not until he is older and ready to be in a relatonship with me. I cherish him too much. I wish I would cherish myself that much.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px; "&gt;Last night, I hurt an old friend when I kissed him out of just friendly affection, and he took it the wrong way. I think I broke his heart. I didn't know my action would hurt him so deeply.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px; "&gt;I felt so horrible that my mind twisted and told me that two wrongs make a right. I wanted to forget about what I had done to my friend and so, when my other friend called me up and asked if I wanted to come over and "do stuff," I said yes. I wanted to do be physical with the second guy 'cus I felt like it would help me forget about the first. I was so wrong. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-6256075009772645039?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/6256075009772645039/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=6256075009772645039' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/6256075009772645039'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/6256075009772645039'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2010/03/self-respect.html' title='Self Respect'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-248412795083911097</id><published>2010-03-17T08:39:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-17T08:39:59.075-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Racing...?</title><content type='html'>So it's Spring Break. As usual, I am working out at the local LA Fitness gym. I was going about my usual work out, doing a 400 for warm up, 2 sets of 3x100 on 1:40 and a 200 IM (it was a short day 'cus I am teaching a friend how to swim later). I finish the first 3x100 and was breathless, when all of the sudden the woman in the lane next to me starts telling me, "you're being so rude, swimming that fast, this isn't the swim team you know, I am 56 and can only go so fast." I thought she was kidding, so I joked back and said, "well, I am only 20, so I think you're doing quite well" and then giggled.&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Apparently she wasn't kidding. She started getting even angrier, going on again about how I was so rude and how I was trying to race her and make her feel bad, but that she wouldn't let me make her feel bad because she was a better person than me. The whole thing was so ridiculous. All I could say was, "I was swimming my own set, paying no attention to you, and I have every right to swim as fast as I want when I want as you do." Then I started on my 200 IM.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Seriously, how could someone be that insecure to think that I was trying to race them? The idea is absurd. No one tries to race anyone at the gym -I swim a lot and that has never happened. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It made for an interesting morning, haha. I just couldn't get over the fact that she was acting so ridiculously (in a good way, I was laughing.) I was also proud that I at least came up with something to say back to her.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-248412795083911097?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/248412795083911097/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=248412795083911097' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/248412795083911097'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/248412795083911097'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2010/03/racing.html' title='Racing...?'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-6058875817703961825</id><published>2010-03-16T05:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-16T05:49:43.924-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Spring Break, Catch Up</title><content type='html'>It's been a while... lots of things have happened in the meantime, but not too many that my life has changed drastically.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My car is in the repair shop, so I am driving a super fun Dodge Charger around Orlando this week and love it. I am not sure if I could permanently drive a car though. My mini SUV, affectionately known as Elsy, still has my heart.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;As an update, the career fair didn't go too well. The woman at the booth was almost on the rude side and was not able to answer my questions. She even implied that if I gave her my resume, she would just throw it out. I was quite disappointed.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Today is different though. I am "going" to a virtual career fair for the employers that I am interested in. Afterwards, I will take the GRE and then, as a prize for finishing the day, my sister and I are going to see Ben Folds at the House of Blues.  Today is gonna be busy, but good.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Just in an update on my life, I got to ride on Alec Davis' motorcycle last night. I finally got a hold of him to ask if we could hang out while I am on Spring Break (which is this week) and he said yes. We agreed that he would pick me up on his motorcycle and we would go see a movie. I hadn't realized it, but he only owned helmet prior to a few hours before picking me up. He went out and bought a helmet just for me -those things aren't cheap! He is so sweet. Not the guy for me, but definitely sweet and a great friend. I gave him a goodnight kiss/peck when we were standing in the driveway saying goodnight. He got so excited that he picked me up and carried me to my door, haha.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-6058875817703961825?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/6058875817703961825/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=6058875817703961825' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/6058875817703961825'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/6058875817703961825'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2010/03/spring-break-catch-up.html' title='Spring Break, Catch Up'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-6083688131003575840</id><published>2010-02-28T07:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-28T07:19:44.902-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Professional Suit</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_w0CR8VQ1Aok/S4qJLiqoRYI/AAAAAAAAAo8/OHwjBvUT3NA/s1600-h/2518899_144.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 174px; height: 232px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_w0CR8VQ1Aok/S4qJLiqoRYI/AAAAAAAAAo8/OHwjBvUT3NA/s320/2518899_144.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443313931007837570" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel like everything has a good chance of coming together for life-after-college. I would love to work in intelligence and feel like I might actually stand a chance to do so. I am going to a career fair Thursday to talk to a particular agency. I don't own much professional clothes though, so I went out shopping for a suit yesterday and had soooo much fun. For about $300, I got a suit (shirt and jacket, I already owned pants for it), a dress, a hat, and a cute motorcycle-like jacket. The jacket I got at The Limited is in the picture to the right. I am putting a light pink blouse from Ann Taylor under it.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I hope I get an internship this summer for the experience, but also so that I can have an excuse to expand my professional wardrobe. Suits are so much fun!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-6083688131003575840?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/6083688131003575840/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=6083688131003575840' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/6083688131003575840'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/6083688131003575840'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2010/02/professional-suit.html' title='Professional Suit'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_w0CR8VQ1Aok/S4qJLiqoRYI/AAAAAAAAAo8/OHwjBvUT3NA/s72-c/2518899_144.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-1092257377367631994</id><published>2010-02-25T18:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-25T18:41:58.585-08:00</updated><title type='text'>3 Little Words</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;So as I hung up the phone tonight, I thought about how good it is to hear that Ms. T loves me. Out of all the people who are in my life who have told me that they love me, there is something different when she says it. When she says "I love you," it feels more real than any other time anyone else has said it to me.  I feel like she really means it. She is sincere. I feel like other people like me, but I can actually believe that Ms. T has a real love for me. I know others love me, but it somehow hits me more and seems more sincere when I hear it from her. Even when my mom and dad say it, it feels empty. The way Ms. T says "I love you," I want to cry because I feel her love in her words.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I hope that I can learn to say "I love you" like she does. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The way I say it now, it feels flat and and sounds like when others (except Ms. T) say it to me. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-1092257377367631994?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/1092257377367631994/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=1092257377367631994' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/1092257377367631994'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/1092257377367631994'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2010/02/3-little-words.html' title='3 Little Words'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-367031900110794006</id><published>2010-02-24T18:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-24T18:39:19.926-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Desperate</title><content type='html'>I am so sick of being alone. I am pretty sure I am desperate, and I am pretty sure that one cannot find someone if desperate because desperation is just plain unattractive and probably unhealthy. Dang it.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Please disregard this post, there are various times where I actually find myself not wanting a significant other, occasionally. It's hard on days like today though, when I spend 10 of the 16 hours of my day alone with an 18 month old and and go straight home to do school work with no one to talk to or pay attention to me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-367031900110794006?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/367031900110794006/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=367031900110794006' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/367031900110794006'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/367031900110794006'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2010/02/desperate.html' title='Desperate'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-3710456517061786949</id><published>2010-02-20T19:28:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-20T19:37:34.694-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A Break Up Moment</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "&gt;&lt;div bindpoint="root" class="GBThreadMessageRow clearfix" style="display: block; border-top-width: 1px; border-top-style: solid; border-top-color: rgb(221, 221, 221); margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 8px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 8px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; height: auto; "&gt;&lt;div class="GBThreadMessageRow_Main"&gt;&lt;div class="GBThreadMessageRow_Body" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); width: 460px; float: left; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; font-size: 13px; "&gt;&lt;div class="GBThreadMessageRow_Body_Content"&gt;So my good friend who knows Ed all too well emailed me and wrote about how her house-mates (she is Italy) approached her about her eating habits, how they had been suspicious since the 2nd day of the semester. She cried and was honest with them, but they shame and guilt she feels is so strong. I emailed her back with this:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="GBThreadMessageRow_Body_Content"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="GBThreadMessageRow_Body_Content"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="GBThreadMessageRow_Body_Content"&gt;Oh baby girl, I am so sorry you feel this. I am so sorry you feel the guilt and the shame too. I have to remind myself constantly that guilt and shame are not of God.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The truth is Amy+Ed is outraged that your protection has been stripped, that your deepest hurt has been revealed to people who may or may not understand. However, I must say that Amy+Jesus has been praying that God would work powerfully during your time in Italy, especially in relation to Ed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Honestly, Ed is so deceptive. I call him Ed because he is like a controlling boyfriend and can be emotionally and physically abusive. He promises that he will love you, but then only tears you down and tells you horrible lies. He promises that you will have friends and not be lonely, but then he keeps you only for himself and guilt trips you if you want to spend time with someone else or do something he doesn't want to do. Breaking up is so hard, so scary, because he is so manipulative. He will say and do anything when we try to leave him.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="GBThreadMessageRow_Body_Content"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div bindpoint="root" class="GBThreadMessageRow clearfix" style="display: block; border-top-width: 1px; border-top-style: solid; border-top-color: rgb(221, 221, 221); margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 8px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 8px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; height: auto; "&gt;&lt;div class="GBThreadMessageRow_Main"&gt;&lt;div class="GBThreadMessageRow_Body" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); width: 460px; float: left; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; font-size: 13px; "&gt;&lt;div class="GBThreadMessageRow_Body_Content"&gt;I don't know if I would call Ed "a" sin. Sin puts us in chains, keeps us from God. Bondage puts us in chains, keeps us from God. Ed puts us in change and keeps us from God.&lt;br /&gt;Does that make sense? We are sinful people. We are in bondage to sin. We are in bondage to Ed. But the truth is, everyone is bondage to sin -Ed makes us much more aware of our chains. But Jesus sets us free from the bondage of sin, you and I both know that. I don't think I would have ever understood the concept of being "in bondage to sin" if not got Ed. Freedom reigns in this place, baby.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don't let anyone tell you, "this is something that you will deal with for the rest of your life." I have had well-meaning people tell me that, but it is a lie. Jesus has set us free, girl. His power and dominion do not exclude Ed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Baby girl, I love you so much and am praying for you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have been thinking about what you said the other day about finding freedom and being scared. It's so frightening. The "what ifs" start coming and I get scared about losing this "control" that actually makes me out of control. I get scared and it's so stupid and I know it. Why do I get scared of something good?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="GBThreadMessageRow_Body_Content"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="GBThreadMessageRow_Body_Content"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="GBThreadMessageRow_Body_Content"&gt;---------------&lt;br /&gt;This I did not put in my email, decided not to, but I wrote it and want to share it here:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="GBThreadMessageRow_Body_Content"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="GBThreadMessageRow_Body_Content"&gt;Also, I know there are so many lies out there, so much shame. I feel so much shame at the lies, "only stupid girls get Eds; only shallow girls would be dumb enough to actually fear gaining weight this excessively; you're immature because otherwise you would not be dealing with such a materialistic and girly teen issue." It's so connected with ditzy, stupid girls who don't understand the way their body works. I just think "stupid" when I think of a girl who has an Ed. Ed screams "You're stupid for doing these things, you can't tell anyone about me!" But All of those are lies. They are such good sounding lies though. Ed loves to tell me them because they push me closer to him and farther away from people.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-3710456517061786949?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/3710456517061786949/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=3710456517061786949' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/3710456517061786949'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/3710456517061786949'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2010/02/break-up-moment.html' title='A Break Up Moment'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-1056562948480815804</id><published>2010-02-15T06:11:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-15T06:13:42.629-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Day After</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px; "&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px; "&gt;It's official, Valentine's Day is worse the day after. I like the actual day 'cus all the single people band together, but the day after just leaves me alone while the couples all have afterglow.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;My roommate and her ex still hang out all the time (as I mentioned last night): they make out, she calls him when she is upset, and he cares. My ex doesn't even care enough to hate me, he simply does not care about me. Why do I still care enough to want to hate him and am tempted to run my car into his every time I see it? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px; "&gt;One of my guy friends who I kinda kept around 'cus he was nice and complimented me, but I told him I didn't want to date, is dating this super nice girl who he doesn't deserve. And the guy I like is just playing me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-1056562948480815804?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/1056562948480815804/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=1056562948480815804' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/1056562948480815804'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/1056562948480815804'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2010/02/day-after.html' title='The Day After'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-8830903195926268664</id><published>2010-02-14T17:43:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-14T17:45:21.977-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Roomie...</title><content type='html'>My roommate keeps hanging out with her ex-fiance. She wont tell me where she went today and when I asked if it was with her ex-fiance, she stressed that it was none of my business. Now she and him (and 3 other friends just walked in) are watching a movie in our room. I want to study. I went to Mr. GQ (comical men's pageant at school) and Ladies' Night Out last night with her instead of studying, now I really need to write my paper.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-8830903195926268664?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/8830903195926268664/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=8830903195926268664' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/8830903195926268664'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/8830903195926268664'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2010/02/my-roommate-keeps-hanging-out-with-her.html' title='Roomie...'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-6808827499507027168</id><published>2010-02-11T06:39:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-11T06:41:48.944-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Anxious Email</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; "&gt;I wrote this letter to my sister's and my counselor today. She specializes in eating disorders and teen girls. It is by the providence of God that one of my mentors suggested this counselor before I even knew of my struggle.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; "&gt;Hi D,&lt;br /&gt;I know that you are on maternity leave and so taking advantage of the time you can spend with your baby girl, but my sister has me really worried.&lt;br /&gt;She started texting me last night telling me how she had eaten breakfast, came home from school and tried to throw it up, then got two bites of a jello cup (sugar free, so only 5 calories) down and felt so gross that she took a razor blood and started cutting her thighs. I told her I was sad she felt so alone and that I understood how scary things can feel. I asked her to text or call me when she feels stressed.&lt;br /&gt;She texted me this morning telling me that she couldn't even eat a jello cup this morning and when she went to put on her jeans, they ripped, which started her screaming at the mirror, "I hate you, you're fat and ugly, everyone hates you and thinks you're fat and ugly" and other similar things.&lt;br /&gt;I don't know what to do. Alice Baker and I have been talking regularly, she's asked me to go 5 weeks of 5 days of exercise and then, on the 6th week, not exercise at all. I am on day 5 of the 6th week and have not even had a fat attack =). I don't think Mary wants to talk things through with me, though I am gonna make more of an effort to talk (not just text) now. Oh, and my mom and Ernie are engaged, though I am thinking that my mom will break it off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If my sister asked asked, would it be possible for you to see her? I don't know if she'll ask, since she knows your kinda off work for a while. I am worried about her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks,&lt;br /&gt;A&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'Times New Roman';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-6808827499507027168?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/6808827499507027168/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=6808827499507027168' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/6808827499507027168'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/6808827499507027168'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2010/02/anxious-email.html' title='Anxious Email'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-1398168719952367016</id><published>2010-02-09T12:14:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-09T12:22:18.730-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Well Meaning Prof</title><content type='html'>So my Theology prof was talking about free will today and decided to use me as example. He wanted to use as student as an example of how humans have choices and do not feel that God forces them into specific choices. Of course, he used me as an example.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;He asked me what I ate for lunch today and then kept talking about how I could have eaten other things, added other foods to my meal, made it more or less healthy, and kept returning to the subject/example through out that class. Then, as if I wasn't uncomfortable enough, he talked about how my boyfriend (he just assumed I had one, didn't bother to ask if I did or not) had a choice of where to take me for valentines day and that he would surely take me to maloneys (fancy steak house) because he loved me. Worst class period, meh.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It's hard for me to eat this week since I am not exercising, I wish he wouldn't have used me in relation to food as an example, especially this week. Then I also had a relapse in getting over Alex this week, so of course he mentions me in relation to a boyfriend. I know he didn't mean to upset me and that he has no idea what is going on in my personal life, but it's just so ironic that he picked me on this week to use as such an example.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-1398168719952367016?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/1398168719952367016/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=1398168719952367016' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/1398168719952367016'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/1398168719952367016'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2010/02/so-my-theology-prof-was-talking-about.html' title='Well Meaning Prof'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-4826844942339789560</id><published>2010-02-07T07:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-07T07:50:05.646-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Engaged... Not me.</title><content type='html'>At about 7:45am on Monday morning, my mother called me and asked, "Did your sister call you last night?" -Now, you know that, when you reply with "no" and your mom sighs in relief, that there is something bad about to go down.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, she went on to tell me that Ernie asked her to marry him the night before. I had to ask her what her answer was. She has a $4,000-$8,000 ring on her finger (my mom looked up similar rings at the store where he bought it and came up with those numbers).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;While I talked to her, she kept asking me my opinion and whether I liked him and how I felt about it. I felt like she wanted me to say, "I hate this idea, don't do it" because she wanted to feel like she was being attacked, victimized, and would have to defend herself. What I told her was that I believed she was old enough, and had lived enough, to make her own decisions and that she knew herself best.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It's not like this wasn't expected. Ernie is selling his house, she has been looking at new and smaller houses with him, and she has been talking about selling our house.  My room is actually going to be painted yellow this week (I JUST painted it lilac this summer!) in order to help sell the house. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am allowed to plan the wedding though, so that's nice. Mom says it's not gonna be 'till December (that's enough time for her to change her mind and back out, I think). It won't be as much fun planning a low-key, less-than-25-guest wedding, but it's the best I've got for now.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I had a relapse Friday night though. The content-being-single feelings wore off after the 4th week of being surrounded by couples, not to mention my roommate and her ex-fiance constantly hanging out. I cried myself to sleep over my ex. It was stupid, but it happened. I feel pathetic.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;In other new, I got Skype! It's quite fun. I got to talk to one of my oldest friends, Adam, on it. Haven't had a real conversation with him in months.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-4826844942339789560?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/4826844942339789560/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=4826844942339789560' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/4826844942339789560'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/4826844942339789560'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2010/02/engaged-not-me.html' title='Engaged... Not me.'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-4570665271354050304</id><published>2010-02-02T17:06:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-02T17:14:33.338-08:00</updated><title type='text'>It's Coming</title><content type='html'>Woo, I start my week off of exercise on Sunday. Scary.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My friend had a bad day yesterday. The previous night, she and her ex-bf went too far, all the way, for the first time. They are both good kids and were committed to staying pure till marriage. She was heart broken. It was devastating. I asked what she wanted and she said pizza. So we ordered pizza and I manned up and ate 3 pieces for the first time without feeling guilty or gross =).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am dreading next week though. I am scared I will have fat attacks, which I have not had in months. They are awful. They make me understand why my friend cut herself on her stomach (I feel that gross that I would want to scratch all the "fat" off). I don't want to feel that way. I am planning on still getting up at 6-ish, but instead of going to the gym, I will spend my morning in prayer in Hughes.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Tomorrow should be fun though. I am going to the 5:30am lap swimming class at the gym in the city. I hope it is good. I miss swimming with a team and having a coach to help with stroke work.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-4570665271354050304?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/4570665271354050304/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=4570665271354050304' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/4570665271354050304'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/4570665271354050304'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2010/02/its-coming.html' title='It&apos;s Coming'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-1608483062719225842</id><published>2010-01-26T05:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-26T05:28:33.654-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Shame</title><content type='html'>My school had a special chapel on eating disorders yesterday, and while it wasn't bad or untruthful, it was definitely boring. However, the woman who spoke was from Remuda and she brought up the topic of shame. Over the past few months, I have begun to recognize and admit that I feel shame when it comes to ED. I mean, it's only the stupid girls who are shallow and don't understand nutrition who are dumb enough to believe things that aren't true and have such a weak will to not be able to stop something they know is bad for them, right? -I am being sarcastic, but also mimicking the thoughts in my head. Anyway, I know shame is not of God and God's grace is bigger, but it's hard to live that out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was a small seminar yesterday in the student center on "how to help loved ones with eating disorders" put on by the woman from Remuda and only 4 people who didn't have EDs showed up (there were 8 total). I felt like no one cared enough about me, or the tens of other girls on campus who struggle, to want to know how to help me. I was really disappointed in my friends who I had told about my ED. But then I continued to think about it, and I was like, "God and Lauren both care and really understand, and they love me, and I can trust them." I usually end up crying myself to sleep, but last night it was so comforting to have that loneliness ebb away for once.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-1608483062719225842?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/1608483062719225842/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=1608483062719225842' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/1608483062719225842'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/1608483062719225842'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2010/01/shame.html' title='Shame'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-8811445633037245793</id><published>2010-01-23T07:22:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-26T05:34:58.944-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Sex/Marriage/Church</title><content type='html'>My church is about to start a series of sermons on the topic of sex and I must admit that I am a little nervous. It is not the sex part that I care about -goodness knows I have heard a bajillion sermons and talks on sex in chapel, in "adult" church, in youth group, and even at camp-, but the marriage part I am concerned with. Most sermons on sex, in a nutshell, go something like this, "Sex is wonderful, but only in marriage. Don't make love until you're married because God designed sex for marriage and it is better experienced in the confines a of a secure, trusting, committed marital relationship."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So really, I am not headed into a 3-week sermon series on sex. What I am getting into is 3 weeks of hearing about something that I cannot do and have no hope of doing because I do not have a man in my life, because I am not married. All that makes me do is want to get married, not want to save myself for marriage. Especially in light of my recent revelation about wanting to live my life for me and not living to get married, I do not want to put myself through such sermons. For the past 4 weeks or so, for the first time in my life, I feel slightly freer from the pressure to get married, from the constant desire pressing on me to be loved by a man, from the fear of leaving college alone and never finding someone. I am more content on my own right now than I have ever been before and I don't want to risk lose this because I listened to 3 sermons on how great marriage is/will be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think I will go tonight to hear the first sermon, but I will walk out if I want or need to and I am making no commitment to continue with the entire series.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;UPDATE:&lt;br /&gt;Church was good. Pastor Kevin exceeded my expectations. He talked about the shame that Satan can put on us (and we put on ourselves) when we believe Satan's lies instead of God's truth. He spoke of breaking free from shame through God's grace because shame keeps us from believing others can love us and from loving others.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-8811445633037245793?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/8811445633037245793/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=8811445633037245793' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/8811445633037245793'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/8811445633037245793'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2010/01/sexmarriagechurch.html' title='Sex/Marriage/Church'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-1556340971228372685</id><published>2010-01-21T15:44:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-21T16:01:49.318-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Military and Responsibility</title><content type='html'>I am rooming with a hopeless Republican hardliner. She makes Raegan look like a liberal. She says that she will never, under any circumstance watch MILK the movie and she said she wouldn't support the petition against the bill in Uganda that would use the death penalty against anyone suspected of homosexuality. I might not make it through the semester.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The above 3 sentences above are a text message I sent to my sister and a couple of my friends. One of those friends is a guy at the Naval Academy. Let me tell you now, the educational system has FAILED my dear friend at the Academy. He replied that he did not understand, so I simply explained to him, "My roommate is an extreme conservative and I am not. There is tension." He replied, "I don't even know what those words mean." ...AH! No wonder America is in such a frightening state.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Someone who is in training to be in a leadership position in the military should know what is going on in politics and how it will affect the military and his job. I also believe that one in the military, especially in a higher position, should also be interested in politics enough that he or she would want to know why the government is pursuing specific policies and why/how it is using the military to execute its policies. To keep up with those developments is hard work though, so I can at least try to be sympathetic to someone who is not informed on those aforementioned topics, but to not even know the meaning of the terms conservative and liberal is just unacceptable. I am personally frightened to know that men at the Naval Academy can be so uneducated. I feel that the more uneducated military personnel are, the more dangerous -not protective- the military is to my own safety as an American citizen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In my view, my friend is using the excuse of "Well they are orders. It's not my job to understand them. Only verify that they are ethical and moral and accomplish them," is an ignorant and lazy excuse. It is a cop out. You have a moral responsibility to understand why you are doing something and how it affects all parties involved. The task of verifying if orders are "ethic and moral" is not easily done when one does not understand why they are being ordered or the context that they are being ordered in.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-1556340971228372685?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/1556340971228372685/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=1556340971228372685' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/1556340971228372685'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/1556340971228372685'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2010/01/that-is-ignorant-and-lazy-excuse-it-is.html' title='Military and Responsibility'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-2938633293214902686</id><published>2010-01-17T09:30:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-17T09:31:19.039-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Thought for the day</title><content type='html'>Globalization is the new Cold War.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-2938633293214902686?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/2938633293214902686/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=2938633293214902686' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/2938633293214902686'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/2938633293214902686'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2010/01/thought-for-day.html' title='Thought for the day'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-4821310722654079617</id><published>2010-01-16T20:49:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-17T09:38:37.347-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Sister Love</title><content type='html'>I am at a loss as to how I can be there for my sister when she sends me texts me, "Yet another night spent driving home alone in the rain while listening to Jon foreman, sobbing, having a panic attack and wishing I could just slam into the semi in front of me. And wanting to sleep all day."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My mom thinks Mary needs to up her dose of Prozac or Zoloft or w/e she is on right now. Mary sleeps something like 12 hours total in a day (naps included). When she is awake and at home, she usually is lying in her bed and on the computer. She does her homework and makes very good grades. She worries incessantly about her grades, actually.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mary is under the impression that going to a private, college-prep boarding school will help decrease her panic attacks -I hope she is right. My mom is considering selling our house and marrying Ernie to help pay for Mary's schooling at the boarding school.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know that there is not much I can do for Mary -I can't make her be happy and I can't tell her to stop having panic attacks. I also cannot force her to talk to me about what dark thoughts plague her, but I am so scared of getting that phone call. I would do anything for her. In fact, I was watching a WWII/Nazi movie the other night and could not help but think that I would do anything to save my sister from a death like what was in a concentration camp, including sacrificing myself for her. I can try to protect her from other people, but how do I protect her from herself?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-4821310722654079617?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/4821310722654079617/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=4821310722654079617' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/4821310722654079617'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/4821310722654079617'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2010/01/i-am-at-loss-as-to-how-i-can-be-there.html' title='Sister Love'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-9018463812706298911</id><published>2010-01-15T16:54:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-15T16:59:38.327-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Papers, Applications</title><content type='html'>The first week back at school and I will have written 3 papers by the end of it -serves me right for taking a class with Dr. Char.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In other news, I am applying for a government grant to study a year in India and then, in return for the government paying for my year abroad, I work for them in some capacity in national security for at least a year.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-9018463812706298911?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/9018463812706298911/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=9018463812706298911' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/9018463812706298911'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/9018463812706298911'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2010/01/papers-applications.html' title='Papers, Applications'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-8090397541557946368</id><published>2010-01-04T13:21:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-04T14:12:40.509-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Overwhelmed</title><content type='html'>I've known it for a while, but never put words to it:&lt;br /&gt;I want stop living as if my life-before-I-get-married only serves the purpose of preparing me for marriage.&lt;br /&gt;I want to stop thinking in terms of before-I-get-married and when-I-am-married.&lt;br /&gt;I want to stop being a perfectionist and codependent for myself.&lt;br /&gt;I want to be a more emotionally and mentally sound person for my sake, not for a future marriage/relationship.&lt;br /&gt;I do not want to want to be a more healthy person primarily to be a better wife or have a better marriage.&lt;br /&gt;I am sick of being told that I am single because God is making me into a more beautiful woman for my husband.&lt;br /&gt;I am tired of dividing my life into two phases, single and married.&lt;br /&gt;I want to live for me, not for some ideal state that I have fantasized about and have been brought up to long for.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was at Dawn's today and we were talking about how I am dreading this upcoming semester at Asbury. This Christmas break has not been perfect, but I have felt so much more at peace about being single, about not being engaged or in a relationship.  I mean, I still have desires and feel lonely, but it's more bearable and is not as much of a consuming pain as it was a month or so ago. I feel like the change has a lot to do with that I have not been constantly surrounded by couples who are in love for 3 whole weeks and no one around me is an engaged 20 year old.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's so much easier to be content with just myself when I am not bombarded by images of couples all day long. In general, people are not expecting 20 year olds to be looking for their spouse outside of Asbury. It's so much less pressure away from Asbury. It makes me want to graduate from Asbury as soon as possible so that I can get out into the real world where it is ok and even normal to fall in love with someone but not jump into marriage.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S.&lt;br /&gt;I feel like 2009 could be called The Year of the Break Up for me. Breaking up with Alex, and also breaking with ED. Although I can feel the healing from breaking up with my ex boyfriend, ED is not giving up as easily and I am still fighting through that one. Although I wish I did not have to go through all of the pain that 2009 has been filled with and it kinda seems like a lost year, I know it has been worth it. I am hoping that, although I had to re-break the bone in 2009, 2010 can be the year in which I begin to heal properly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.P.S.&lt;br /&gt;Thank you, Kara, for showing patience to me and for being willing to give me much-needed reality checks.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-8090397541557946368?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/8090397541557946368/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=8090397541557946368' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/8090397541557946368'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/8090397541557946368'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2010/01/i-known-it-for-while-but-never-put.html' title='Overwhelmed'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-3710705231627551002</id><published>2009-12-30T17:26:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-30T17:29:40.309-08:00</updated><title type='text'>To Georgia</title><content type='html'>I leave tomorrow for 4 days in the Georgia mountains with my dad, my aunt+uncle+babycousins, and my sister.  I hope it goes well. It good potential to be seriously awkward, as do most of my family's gatherings, which is why they are so rare.&lt;br /&gt;I am sure, if I get internet in GA, I will be bored enough to update on every minute detail of my life that has happened since my last post.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S.&lt;br /&gt;I kissed a boy and didn't think of my ex at all during it or for a while after wards =).&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-3710705231627551002?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/3710705231627551002/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=3710705231627551002' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/3710705231627551002'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/3710705231627551002'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2009/12/to-georgia.html' title='To Georgia'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-3284824212947892803</id><published>2009-12-14T11:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-14T11:10:58.684-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Thoughts of Last Sunday</title><content type='html'>These are some letters of reflection I wrote during Break Up Group (ED Recovery group) last week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first one is about the lie that I have believed even though I know in my head it's not true, but the way I live reflects me belief in it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The second one is about boundaries in relationship and keeping my identity, keeping a defining line between what is me and what is the other person.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_w0CR8VQ1Aok/SyaM5yw8y0I/AAAAAAAAAog/sdvF_z2lyn0/s1600-h/NovemberandDecember+003+%283%29.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_w0CR8VQ1Aok/SyaM5yw8y0I/AAAAAAAAAog/sdvF_z2lyn0/s400/NovemberandDecember+003+%283%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415170526467115842" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_w0CR8VQ1Aok/SyaNh6TOegI/AAAAAAAAAow/klOljDUBIEM/s1600-h/NovemberandDecember+007.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_w0CR8VQ1Aok/SyaNh6TOegI/AAAAAAAAAow/klOljDUBIEM/s400/NovemberandDecember+007.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415171215684696578" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-3284824212947892803?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/3284824212947892803/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=3284824212947892803' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/3284824212947892803'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/3284824212947892803'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2009/12/thoughts-of-last-sunday.html' title='Thoughts of Last Sunday'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_w0CR8VQ1Aok/SyaM5yw8y0I/AAAAAAAAAog/sdvF_z2lyn0/s72-c/NovemberandDecember+003+%283%29.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-3460943316350846049</id><published>2009-12-08T15:38:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-08T17:51:06.068-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Better to Not Have Loved</title><content type='html'>Alfred Lord Tennyson said, "Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all" and I am here to tell you that it simply isn't true. I would have rather stayed ignorant of the deep ecstasy that being in loves brings if I had known that, after losing it, I would realize that the man whom I loved never really loved me.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe that isn't what Tennyson is talking about though. Maybe he is talking about real love, when both people actually are capable of loving each other and do/did love each other, but have to part.  Maybe he is not talking about when one person falls in love and wants to spend the rest of their life with someone who only loves them as an intimate friend (with a physical dimension to the relationship, of course).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Either way, I really must say that I think it is better to be ignorant of what you are really missing, than to have to lose it.  I suppose love is worth the risk it comes with (that you might lose it) -but if one knew it would end in heart ache before ever experiencing it (falling love/entering the relationship), one should avoid it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am 17 days away from being single for 11 months.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This past Saturday, my good friend and my ex's close friend/roommate (he is the same person) told me he is interested in me romantically.  I asked my ex about it.  My ex texted his reply, "just take it easy on him; he isn't like me -you're REALLY horny. I always thought you two would be good together even while we were dating."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wow, he really didn't love me.  I mean, I knew it before, but this just adds another nail to the coffin. How can you think, "you know, my best friend and my girlfriend should get together," and really love someone?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I saw him, standing with his back to me and talking to friends, in the gym today. I went into the locker room as quietly as I could, then proceeded to cry during me shower and I don't know exactly why, other than it still hurts me to think about him, even though I know he's an a**hole.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel silly though, cus I am hurt by and mad at him, but also mad at/hurt by his new gf.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;like, I don't know which I want more, for her to break his heart so that he can feel heart ache for once, or for him to break her heart because he'll realize that she's never gonna be as good as me. I also kinda want her to get her heart broken so she can see what a jacka** he is and what a mistake she could have saved herself if she had come and asked me about him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is that bad? Shouldn't I just not care? All the things I kinda want to happen revolve around me and revenge. Argh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At times, I worry that someone might think that my ex must be a really great guy, since I am having such a hard time getting completely over him and leaving him behind. Don't be fooled. I loved him deeply, but it was not returned and he is not a great guy. I led myself to believe the illusion that my mind created of him.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-3460943316350846049?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/3460943316350846049/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=3460943316350846049' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/3460943316350846049'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/3460943316350846049'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2009/12/better-to-not-have-loved.html' title='Better to Not Have Loved'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-1477405246972552995</id><published>2009-12-02T18:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-02T18:44:15.416-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Letter from a Friend</title><content type='html'>I got on facebook tonight and saw that I had a message from a girl with whom I talked with and hung out with in high school. She was a friend, but not in my super-close circle of friends, so that made this message mean all the more. While reading, I got tears in my eyes.  I am so grateful that the Lord can use me in my brokenness and mistakes and when I am not aware. I have messed up so much in my faith and how I live our the Gospel. He is so good. Thank you, Lord, for allowing me to have a role in Your Kingdom.  I find more reasons to praise You daily.&lt;br /&gt;---------&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hi,&lt;br /&gt;I know it's been a while since you and I have talked, and even then it's been a while since we've been close. I just wanted to tell you something I was thinking about the other day.&lt;br /&gt;I went to a dinner at my cousins church called Holiday For Her. Basically we sat at nicely decorated host tables and ate dinner while speakers talked to us about the church and about the real meaning of the Christmas holiday. One of the speakers was explaining the struggles she went through with believing years ago, but how she remembered some one from her childhood who always believed so strongly they inspired her. I started looking back on people in my life and Amy, you are that person for me.&lt;br /&gt;There are many people who are strong in their beliefs and actions but I feel that you are the most inspirational in my life. I don't want to sound too weird, but you just shine and I wanted to say thank you for being so honest, and so You. I may not have always understood it when I was younger, but I do now.&lt;br /&gt;Sorry, I know this was pretty long-winded but it has been on my mind a few days, and I felt I should tell you, so Thank You.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-1477405246972552995?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/1477405246972552995/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=1477405246972552995' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/1477405246972552995'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/1477405246972552995'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2009/12/letter-from-friend.html' title='Letter from a Friend'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-454967591463402333</id><published>2009-12-01T06:54:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-01T06:57:08.202-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Eggs=Best Boyfriends</title><content type='html'>ok, so I was thinking about boyfriends while I was making my breakfast this morning (a turkey, avocado, and cheese omelet) and decided that, if I had to choose a food for my perfect man to be like, I would choose an egg.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why an egg, you ask? &lt;br /&gt;Well, eggs have a lot of really great things about them...&lt;br /&gt;1.) They have hard and protective outsides, but they are actually soft and pliable on the inside (not to mention yummy&lt;br /&gt;2.) Eggs are good in a variety of different dishes from different cultures, so they adapt well to different situations&lt;br /&gt;3.) They have a fast burning protein and a slow burning protein within them (yoke and the white), making them great for whether you want a fast and upbeat time or you are more in the mood for taking it slow and making it last a while&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-454967591463402333?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/454967591463402333/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=454967591463402333' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/454967591463402333'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/454967591463402333'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2009/12/eggsbest-boyfriends.html' title='Eggs=Best Boyfriends'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-756810147264558896</id><published>2009-11-28T17:29:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-28T17:34:40.439-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Christmas List '09</title><content type='html'>Spinning/Cycling shoes&lt;br /&gt;Kitchen Aid Professional&lt;br /&gt;4 Place Settings (bowl, cup, plate), sharp knife&lt;br /&gt;Car Stereo Deck (auxiliary input, CD player; sony or pioneer)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-756810147264558896?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/756810147264558896/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=756810147264558896' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/756810147264558896'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/756810147264558896'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2009/11/christmas-list-09.html' title='Christmas List &apos;09'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-6658586854702072855</id><published>2009-11-27T07:17:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-27T07:23:16.174-08:00</updated><title type='text'>West Virginia</title><content type='html'>Thanksgiving went well. I traveled to West Virginia with my friend Abigail to celebrate with her grandparents, aunt and uncle, and younger cousin. Her grandparents own a Bed and Breakfast and it's pretty fun. I went for a run yesterday around there area (5 or 6 miles) and it's beautiful. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;I am sitting in the living room next to the a crackling fire. Her Grandpa just opened up the window and it's snowing outside!  I can see a hillside with lots of reddish, skeletal trees in the background. I guess I will not be going for a run today.  One thing I would like for Christmas is a set of warm gloves and hat to go running in.&lt;br /&gt;Abigail is still asleep and I have spent most of the morning reading my Bible and surfing the internet. We will return to school either tomorrow morning or later tonight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The holidays are a horrible time to be single.  I am so desperate/lonely that I even find Abigail's 15 year old cousin attractive enough that I would not mind a hug or even a slight cuddle. In my defense, he is 6'5 and a very muscular swimmer and is also on the cross country team, so he could pass for 17... That's better than 15, considering I am almost 20, haha.  Agh, I will be 20 in less than a month. No more being a teenager =(.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Abigail talked to her boyfriend (they are very serious and are talking about marriage and when/how it fits into their education and career plans). I went to bed 'cus there was nothing for me at it was 11pm. I cried myself to sleep while my mind wandered from Abigail and her boyfriend, to wishing I had someone, to once again, inevitably returning to my ex and wondering went wrong and why.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One thing that has kept me smiling is listening to the audiobook of Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-6658586854702072855?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/6658586854702072855/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=6658586854702072855' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/6658586854702072855'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/6658586854702072855'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2009/11/west-virginia.html' title='West Virginia'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-2642917306016021283</id><published>2009-11-16T11:58:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-16T12:02:55.094-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Why Can't I Let It Not Affect Me?</title><content type='html'>So of all the dates my ex could have chosen, he chose November 15 to start dating someone new. November 15 was the day he started dating me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel overwhelmingly sad... and am mad at myself for feeling that. His new girlfriend is the one who is getting involved with a guy who, really, is incapable of keeping up a deep conversation and of falling in love and loving even when it isn't convenient. She should be the one who is sad, not me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think I am more mad that he has someone and I don't and that makes me feel like I am not as good... I know it's not true, but I still feel it. I know I need to separate "his stuff" from "my stuff" and not let his affect me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-2642917306016021283?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/2642917306016021283/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=2642917306016021283' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/2642917306016021283'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/2642917306016021283'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2009/11/why-cant-i-let-it-not-affect-me.html' title='Why Can&apos;t I Let It Not Affect Me?'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-582585476802214902</id><published>2009-11-12T12:36:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-12T12:47:43.776-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Stop Making Googley Eyes in Public</title><content type='html'>I often feel a surge of anger when I see dating couples who are about my age and have an urge to throw rocks at them.&lt;br /&gt;But other times, I just start crying and I try to blink away my tears as I walk past them. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't really know what I am feeling, whether it's hurt or jealousy or what.  I want what they have but I don't even have someone that I can legitimately want it with.  I never even saw other couples when I was in love, now I see them everywhere.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Does that I feel such strong emotions towards dating couples mean that I am not over my ex?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I was walking back to the my apartment, I was thinking about how I was about to go make dinner alone, then eat at the table alone, and I would probably eat alone if I went to the caf anyway because I don't really have a group to eat with whom I am comfortable around, nor do I know where anyone sits in the caf anymore. I end up eating alone most of the time I go to the caf now because I don't see anyone I know.&lt;br /&gt;The only person I saw at lunch today was Leah, but she sitting with my ex and his new "interest" (he wants to date her and she wants to date him, but they don't want to make it official right now).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Andy told me yesterday that it's been too long and that I should just get over him. He thinks I need to talk to his girlfriend and make new friends to help me.  I don't have any old friends here (not close ones) to compare with new ones, I told him.&lt;br /&gt;I have Abigail, who I met this August really.  She's the only girl I feel really comfortable and confident hanging out with, but I still find myself holding my breath until she says "yes, I can come."  There's Leiza and Heather and Christie, but they are busy with school and almost always say no when it comes to hanging out.&lt;br /&gt;Keturah is an RA and taking 18 hours and works, so whenever I ask her to do something, she is too busy; I never ask Hannah because I don't know if I could keep up a conversation with her.  I can ask Irene sometimes, but I am not sure if I really click with her and I don't want to force something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So that leaves me with Abigail, who is a senior and I just met.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-582585476802214902?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/582585476802214902/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=582585476802214902' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/582585476802214902'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/582585476802214902'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2009/11/stop-making-googley-eyes-in-public.html' title='Stop Making Googley Eyes in Public'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-7723839749778742871</id><published>2009-11-08T07:42:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-08T09:48:38.889-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Luke Warm vs Radical</title><content type='html'>So, because you are lukewarm—neither hot nor cold—I am about to spit you out of my mouth. -Revelation 3:16&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have been feeling pretty confused lately about my spiritual fervor. I feel that I am living a luke warm life, not a radically sold out life for Christ.  If I truly believed God's promises and trusted him wholeheartedly, it seems like I would not worry or freak out, I would not become upset at foolish things like low grades or financial woes. Also, if I truly found my entire identity in Christ, instead of looking for it in my physical image and in men and in how others perceive me, maybe I would not feel so desperate for a husband or be struggling with this eating/exercise disorder.  I feel like my lack of true, unfettered belief in Christ is holding me back. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don't get me wrong, I believe that God exists and made the world and everything in it, that He is sovereign, that the Bible is the Truth, and that Jesus Christ is the Son of God and Man and came to redeem me by sacrificing himself on the cross in order to pay my debt that I owe because of my sin.  However, I feel like if I truly believed with every fiber of my being, I would be more different.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lately, the idea that Christians are defined by what they do not do, more than by what they do, has been at the forefront of my mind.  I do not want people to describe me as "The girl who doesn't party, doesn't drink, and doesn't have sex." I want to be known as a girl who is selfless, compassionate, ready to love anyone at anytime.  I want to be known for being Jesus; not being swayed by power and money, but living my life to spread the Good News and to love His children.  I don't know what being known by what I do, rather than what I do not do really looks like. I mean, I can volunteer every night of the week if I want to, but I don't know if that is really what "being known by what I do" is all about.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If I do it by force, because I know should, rather than out of a sincere desire to love others, it won't mean anything.  Lord, I want more of Your love to pour into me and out of me so that I might love others as You love them, that You would show Your love for them through me.  I do not want my sins to become a distraction to others and reason to discredit You.  What I don't do is important (I mean, I don't feel like making out with a guy is exactly a good way to represent Jesus), but what I do is even more important.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jesus, overcome my unbelief and teach me how to live as You lived on this Earth, through whatever situations and circumstances to which You call me.  I am trying to lay down my crown at Your feet; give my desire for marriage and a family, for a respectable and successful career to You, to do with as You will.  I want to be content if Your will does not include my aforementioned dreams. I want Your will to become my will. Whether Your will includes such dreams or not, I want to be content in doing Your will, not mine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Father, if I give up physically intimacy and fun, flirty/dirty texts and conversations with guys, I am scared I will feel more lonely than I ever have before.  I know in my head that You will fill me and I will be more content after having given up such lustful activities, but it is still scary to let go of them.  I wish my heart knew what my head knows.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-7723839749778742871?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/7723839749778742871/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=7723839749778742871' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/7723839749778742871'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/7723839749778742871'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2009/11/luke-warm-vs-radical.html' title='Luke Warm vs Radical'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-5213164543548661961</id><published>2009-11-08T07:42:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-08T07:43:21.016-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Brief Time On Earth</title><content type='html'>If I knew I only had a few days to live, I would not do any of my homework and I would just have fun with my friends 24/7. I hate it when people tell me to "live as if today is your last day" because then I would be completely unprepared for my future. I mean, I can't just go and be irresponsible every day and always choose family and friends over work.  I know, there is a balance, but I just think sometimes that saying is a little silly.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-5213164543548661961?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/5213164543548661961/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=5213164543548661961' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/5213164543548661961'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/5213164543548661961'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2009/11/brief-time-on-earth.html' title='Brief Time On Earth'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-8712249676389830830</id><published>2009-11-07T07:30:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-07T07:37:59.422-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Crush Crush Crush</title><content type='html'>I think I have a crush. And not a creepy stalker crush like the ones on Joel or Nick, haha. He's not a Christian though, so it's super irritating. I know I shouldn't like him; I mean, I can't be in an intimate relationship with someone if my life's foundation is something completely different from theirs. How I spend my money (tithing and charity) and my time (volunteering, studying the Bible, going to church, praying) are just two differences that count for a lot. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I chose where to go to college based on where I felt the Holy Spirit was leading me and that is also how I chose my summer job in 2009. The other day, I anonymously CPO-ed a girl a large sum of money because I felt that Jesus was calling me to do so.  I just can't see someone, who doesn't share my faith, being cool with that kind of stuff if I marry them. I also think it is very important to have a spiritual leader in my husband/boyfriend, for both of us to continually point the other to Christ.  If I have children, it is vital for them to see their father and mother in a Godly relationship and find spiritual role models in BOTH parents. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So for now, I will be praying for this guy to open his heart to the Truth, to seek out the Truth. He is becoming aware that there is something missing in his life, I hope he discovers that it is his Maker that is missing.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-8712249676389830830?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/8712249676389830830/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=8712249676389830830' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/8712249676389830830'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/8712249676389830830'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2009/11/crush-crush-crush.html' title='Crush Crush Crush'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-1645638027934964759</id><published>2009-11-03T16:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-04T08:11:20.568-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Consumption or Love</title><content type='html'>As consumers in a commercial driven culture we can begin to view other souls as objects, or potential cures for our deepest fears and insecurities. “Perhaps if I found the right lover I would no longer feel this deep existential despair.” But of course no human soul could be the Constant Other, the face that will never go away. Only the infinite can fill that role. But the silence can be deafening. It’s a fearful thing to be alone. Do you love me enough to let me go? “I can’t live without you” – “I would die if you ever left me” – These are not the songs of love, these are the songs of consumption.&lt;br /&gt;-Jon Foreman, lead singer of Switchfoot&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The truth will set you free but it’s only slightly less scary than hell and a whole lot harder to get there. -Jon Foreman&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Love does not alter the beloved, it alters itself.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Soren Kierkegaard&lt;/b&gt;   &lt;p&gt;“The capitalist culture of consumption… does not provide meaningful sustenance for large numbers of people.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Cornel West&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;h3 style="font-weight: normal;" class="GenericStory_Message" ft="{&amp;quot;type&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;msg&amp;quot;}"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;these are the scars deep in your heart /this is the place you were born /this is the hole where most of your soul comes ripping out from the places you’ve been torn /and it is always yours /I am always yours&lt;br /&gt;-Always, On Switchfoot's New Album&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h3&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been thinking lately about capitalism and how it changes culture. It is founded on the premise of selfishness, that someone would want to work hard because he could get more of the pie.  Why work if there is no gain?  Yes, people volunteer and some work in non-profits, but the general mindset of capitalism is selfish. Many even have trouble separating capitalism and market economies from democracy and cannot imagine a democratic America without capitalism.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Faith in Jesus is essentially, "God First, Others Second, and I'm Third."  Jesus' way of thinking is pretty near contrary to the selfish premise that capitalism is based on.  And most people would agree, theoretically, that consumerism is empty and devoid of meaning. If we know, in our heads, that it is empty, why do we try so hard to find our meaning in consumerism?  Most do not do it purposely, consciously, but I think almost everyone in Americas has gone out shopping when they wanted to feel better or has gone to the local ice cream shop after a bad day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It seems like, in such a consumption-driven culture, people would be begging for meaning. Well, I think they are.  Why are they not finding it in Jesus?  I think American Christians, myself included, need to rethink where we are searching for and finding our identities and meaning. We need to consider our unbelief; if we really believed Jesus' promises, would we get stressed and worry?  If we actually had faith in His goodness and believed His promises, we would be radicals and never fret over the economy. I want to REALLY believe. Right now, I know that I am wallowing in unbelief just from the amount of times a day I freak out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In such an empty way of living (capitalism's consumerism), Christians should be rejoicing that so many are searching.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-1645638027934964759?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/1645638027934964759/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=1645638027934964759' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/1645638027934964759'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/1645638027934964759'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2009/11/consumption-or-love.html' title='Consumption or Love'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-6473651811181006893</id><published>2009-10-24T15:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-24T15:59:40.716-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Major melt down today in the hotel in Nashville. I was so stressed. Annoyed at the girls I had come with and distracted by homework, I couldn't get myself to relax and have fun. I was on the verge of crying all morning and finally broke down around 3pm. I cried to my mom about stress, how I was annoyed, how I just wanted to go home and do homework.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then, Ben and Bekah called and said they were coming into nashville and wanted to go out and take me with them. Everything changed. I felt so much better. The tension left me and I didn't feel like I needed to do school work. I am gonna go out to dinner with them and Ben's brother now, yay. I feel much better, though my make up is crazy due to all the water works.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-6473651811181006893?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/6473651811181006893/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=6473651811181006893' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/6473651811181006893'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/6473651811181006893'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2009/10/major-melt-down-today-in-hotel-in.html' title=''/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-5120747883800916448</id><published>2009-10-15T12:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-15T13:10:58.701-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Email to the Student Body VP</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Hey Micah,&lt;br /&gt;I am beginning to get super-stressed about the FSC. I had 2 members, but not even one of them has shown up for the past 2 meetings because their classes ran over or they slept through it or they forgot. One of those members just quit.  I am more stressed because I had hoped to meet up with my sister in Nashville the week before Thanksgiving break (the 21st) and drive home to Florida with them, skipping Mon and Tues classes, but I need to be here on the 22nd to set up for the turkey carving on the 22nd because I don't have anyone I can count on to take over for setting up tables for carvers, decorating tables and organizing carvers, and tear down.&lt;br /&gt;So I just kinda thought I would throw all that out there... I think that was more for my stress-relief than your update...&lt;br /&gt;-Amy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Stress:&lt;br /&gt;Mom and Mary looking into moving to Nashville&lt;br /&gt;Summer job/internship applications&lt;br /&gt;Not exercising on Saturday this week&lt;br /&gt;Trying to get 10 hours of community service&lt;br /&gt;Amachi mentoring program being on one day and off the next&lt;br /&gt;Being the CEO of my Non-Profit Group in Soc Class&lt;br /&gt;Weekly 5 page Charalambakis papers&lt;br /&gt;CRAZY AMOUNTS OF READING THAT I NEVER FINISH!&lt;br /&gt;Nannying 15 hours a week and still feeling pressed for money&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-5120747883800916448?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/5120747883800916448/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=5120747883800916448' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/5120747883800916448'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/5120747883800916448'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2009/10/email-to-student-body-vp.html' title='Email to the Student Body VP'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-5946599690694167182</id><published>2009-10-13T18:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-13T18:59:02.937-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Broken Up. Or so we thought.</title><content type='html'>I am afraid that I won't heal and mature and move past my issues and will end up being as emotionally crippled and unable to have a good marriage as my parents.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My mom called me on Friday night to tell me she broke up with Ernie. I was so happy. I mean, she shouldn't be with someone who is as old as my grandpa and has kids that are her age. Also, he told her that they either be physically involved, or he didn't want to be involved at all with her (that was back in last school year). So she finally broke it off Friday.... then I get a call Sunday night and she mentions that Ernie called her and asked her on a date for Thursday night. Ugh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She said that he apologized and is content now with casual dating where he picks her up at the door, they go out to dinner, and he drops her off at the door, and nothing more than that.  Apparently they are in a relationship, but it isn't serious.  I was so shocked. I didn't know what to say.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I called her today and told her that I felt that Ernie was not a righteuous man or a man after God's heart and she agreed. I told her that she should only date men who are righteous and are Godly and she disagreed. She feels that, since things aren't serious with Ernie, it doesn't matter what kind of man he is. Argh, she shouldn't date someone if she is not serious, especially at age 56 with 2 kids.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and, not serious? Ernie picked Mary up from school today and gave her some food for my mom and her to eat for dinner tonight.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-5946599690694167182?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/5946599690694167182/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=5946599690694167182' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/5946599690694167182'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/5946599690694167182'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2009/10/broken-up-or-so-we-thought.html' title='Broken Up. Or so we thought.'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-8346949821303622746</id><published>2009-10-06T18:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-06T18:34:46.719-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Just Say No</title><content type='html'>I left my spinning class halfway through tonight and went to get a shake instead. I had already run 4 miles and lifted weights and at about 20 minutes into the spinning class, I thought to myself, "I shouldn't be here after doing all that exercise earlier, but if I go the whole hour, I will let myself eat that milkshake that I want." That was a scary though. What if it gets to be, "if you go one more hour, you can eat dinner"?. I don't want to get like that. So I stopped at the half hour mark of the class and went an got that shake anyway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After I left the gym, I went grocery shopping. I wanted to buy cereal and went over to look at all the Kashi stuff. Then I realized I don't even like Kashi cereal. I just tell myself I like it because it feels healthy.  I didn't buy it =). It was hard not to buy it.  I now have Cinnamon Chex on top of the fridge instead.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes I feel like I am the only person who wants to choose the healthy/fitness thing, but knows it is better in the long run not to.  I mean, I had to force myself to leave my class at the gym and go get a milkshake...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-8346949821303622746?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/8346949821303622746/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=8346949821303622746' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/8346949821303622746'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/8346949821303622746'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2009/10/just-say-no.html' title='Just Say No'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-2952566740291319810</id><published>2009-10-04T13:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-04T14:37:34.233-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Journaling</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_w0CR8VQ1Aok/SskMN1bj_BI/AAAAAAAAAoA/yfyxj3_-Ais/s1600-h/IMG_1393.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_w0CR8VQ1Aok/SskMN1bj_BI/AAAAAAAAAoA/yfyxj3_-Ais/s400/IMG_1393.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388851860946025490" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I journaled this at Break Up Group today. I feel like I should mention that my grandparents' backyard was a steep, hillside in a forest.  There were 99 steps down to the very center of the tiny valley.  You would never have found the steps if you had not known they were there; they were covered in moss and too steep for my grandmother to make it down.  At the bottom of the steps, you were totally cut off from the world. Looking up, you would not even know there was human life for miles around, except for the small bench just to the left of the stairs.  The bench was built as a place to sit and enjoy the area where the small stream pooled up.  The stream was the center point of the valley. The water just barely trickled through the stream and was probably only 2 or 3 inches deep and 3 or 4 feet wide, if that.  Fallen trees lined the sides, as well as seasons of dead of foliage. I loved to sit and watch the water, while other times I would walk down the stream to until the branches became to thick for me to go any further.  It was safe and quiet. I don't remember going down with other people often.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish I could go out to the trails at school by the barn and play in the stream naked.  I could go at night when no one was around, but I wouldn't feel safe, I would want a man to come with me.  I wish I was married so I could have a man come with me and feel secure and right about being naked around him.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-2952566740291319810?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/2952566740291319810/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=2952566740291319810' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/2952566740291319810'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/2952566740291319810'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2009/10/journaling.html' title='Journaling'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_w0CR8VQ1Aok/SskMN1bj_BI/AAAAAAAAAoA/yfyxj3_-Ais/s72-c/IMG_1393.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-1012659891452286582</id><published>2009-09-29T18:55:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-29T18:56:58.588-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Small Talk</title><content type='html'>do you ever wish that people would stop asking "how are you?" so that you could stop lying?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-1012659891452286582?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/1012659891452286582/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=1012659891452286582' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/1012659891452286582'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/1012659891452286582'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2009/09/small-talk.html' title='Small Talk'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-8156697395977741671</id><published>2009-09-28T13:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-28T13:37:04.008-07:00</updated><title type='text'>More Than Scars</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_w0CR8VQ1Aok/SsEd1PUlpAI/AAAAAAAAAnw/v5SD3pihw3c/s1600-h/IMG_13851.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_w0CR8VQ1Aok/SsEd1PUlpAI/AAAAAAAAAnw/v5SD3pihw3c/s320/IMG_13851.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386619429794980866" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is it ironic that the top scar on my right hand came from swim practice (I scraped my hand against the wall during backstroke), and the lower scar is from when I baked cookies and burnt myself?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Exercise and food have left their marks, inside and out.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-8156697395977741671?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/8156697395977741671/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=8156697395977741671' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/8156697395977741671'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/8156697395977741671'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2009/09/more-than-scars.html' title='More Than Scars'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_w0CR8VQ1Aok/SsEd1PUlpAI/AAAAAAAAAnw/v5SD3pihw3c/s72-c/IMG_13851.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-299367665502511213</id><published>2009-09-26T20:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-26T20:53:20.769-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Unequally Yoked</title><content type='html'>Why is it that the two guys that I connect with, like pretty much soul-mate level, are not Christians? I mean, Adam and Steve, I can go without talking to them for a year or more and when I see them, it's like we've never been a part. They understand what I am saying and can complete my sentences. The conversation is never awkward, the silences are comfortable.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-299367665502511213?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/299367665502511213/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=299367665502511213' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/299367665502511213'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/299367665502511213'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2009/09/unequally-yoked.html' title='Unequally Yoked'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-9098315092684088761</id><published>2009-09-26T12:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-26T12:52:52.431-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Lex w/ Steve</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_w0CR8VQ1Aok/Sr5xB2NgXjI/AAAAAAAAAnQ/IBB1yu0sE2M/s1600-h/DSC_6193.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_w0CR8VQ1Aok/Sr5xB2NgXjI/AAAAAAAAAnQ/IBB1yu0sE2M/s320/DSC_6193.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385866480927661618" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Steve came up this weekend for the UF/UK game. I picked him up at his hotel at 11:30pm and we went to the non-alcoholic bar (smoothies, coffee, fancy sodas, fancy waters, energy drinks, juice) in Lex.  Then we went to Triangle Park and chilled, talked some more, and Steve took pictures.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These are some of the pics.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_w0CR8VQ1Aok/Sr5w3WPDAcI/AAAAAAAAAnI/TAikUWKjbso/s1600-h/DSC_6145.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_w0CR8VQ1Aok/Sr5w3WPDAcI/AAAAAAAAAnI/TAikUWKjbso/s320/DSC_6145.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385866300545499586" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-9098315092684088761?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/9098315092684088761/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=9098315092684088761' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/9098315092684088761'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/9098315092684088761'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2009/09/lex-w-steve.html' title='Lex w/ Steve'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_w0CR8VQ1Aok/Sr5xB2NgXjI/AAAAAAAAAnQ/IBB1yu0sE2M/s72-c/DSC_6193.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-8182277146445245814</id><published>2009-09-21T10:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-21T10:04:08.868-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Lay Down My Crown</title><content type='html'>wanting to get married&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;laying down desire for marriage to God to with as He wills&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You are making me more beautiful in this time&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-8182277146445245814?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/8182277146445245814/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=8182277146445245814' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/8182277146445245814'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/8182277146445245814'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2009/09/lay-down-my-crown.html' title='Lay Down My Crown'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-867749104998333057</id><published>2009-09-19T10:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-19T10:32:57.120-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Addictions Destroy</title><content type='html'>I have had a lot to think about the past few days during Fall Revival and wanted to share it with someone, so here it goes:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I talked to my ex and had an actual conversation with him for the firs time in a long time. Well, it was on facebook and text, but it still was an actual conversation instead of a fight or something awkward. We asked how the other was doing and a little a bit about our summers. Then I asked him how often he looked at porn when we were dating -he said "occasionally." We got into a conversation about porn and he came out and said, "it's so hard for me not to.. Im addicted to masturbation," but when I asked him if he wanted out, he said he knew he probably should, but he didn't want to and that he would get out when he meets someone new that he wants to be in a serious relationship with.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How foolish. It's addiction, you can't quite just whenever you want, when you find someone. It's a freaking addiction. It's controlling him. Besides, how can he meet someone to be in a healthy, serious relationship with if he is not making an effort to be healthy himself? Addictions are selfish and leave no room to care for anyone else. They are consuming. No one can serve two masters. Right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It hurts to know that I fell for someone who, just like my dad, has a sexual addiction. But at least it explains why he was so emotionally unavailable, so isolated and depressed. It explains why he could not care for me and treat me well. He is incapable of doing so until he can work through his addiction, recognize how destructive it is, how controlling it is. Just as I should not be in a relationship or look for one until I am in a stable place of recovery with my exercise addiction (which I don't like to admit). I need to work through and heal the wounds that have gotten me to the place I am at, so does he.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S.&lt;br /&gt;I should mention that I stayed out late (11:30pm is late for me, haha) with Alex's roommate/one of my best friends and talked for 2 hours Wednesday night (nothing romantic there, just friendship).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It came up in conversation that the "M" word had been discussed in the girls-only talk for Fall Revival and that almost every girl in the room had done it and feels confused about it or has struggled with it and/or porn. Honestly, it was so good to see other girls admitting they had done it.  The woman who was the speaker for the girls-only talk said later that she had never seen such a collective sigh of relief on an entire audience's face when someone mentioned female masturbation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I knew that he (my friend/Alex's roommate) had struggled with porn and so we talked about it for a bit. He told met that last year he had used Alex's external hard drive and found folders and folders of porn. I knew Alex had struggled in HS with it, but Alex told me various times that he was fine and not struggling and that it was hard to get porn on campus anyway because of internet blocks. He lied.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-867749104998333057?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/867749104998333057/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=867749104998333057' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/867749104998333057'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/867749104998333057'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2009/09/addictions-destroy.html' title='Addictions Destroy'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-562747260670712817</id><published>2009-09-18T14:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-18T14:37:57.657-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Cash From Jesus</title><content type='html'>&lt;h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" ft="{&amp;quot;type&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;msg&amp;quot;}"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt; &lt;span class="UIIntentionalStory_Names" ft="{&amp;quot;type&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;name&amp;quot;}"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="UIStory_Message"&gt;So I have been feeling for the past 6 months or so that I should give this girl on campus (young, newlywed, music major) $50 anonymously.  I didn't do it last semester.  I finally gave in today, haha.  I just read her facebook status and it said&lt;br /&gt;"I got an envelope with cash in it today, that said to Abby, from Jesus. that's all it said. It's definitely cool with me that Jesus misspelled my name. And I thank Him so much for His goodness, it means so much to me...i really feel cared for and cared about"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ooops, her name is Abbie, haha.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h3&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-562747260670712817?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/562747260670712817/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=562747260670712817' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/562747260670712817'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/562747260670712817'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2009/09/cash-from-jesus.html' title='Cash From Jesus'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-6023389594969359972</id><published>2009-09-18T13:37:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-18T13:41:35.949-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Never Let Me Go</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:180%;"  &gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I've tried so hard my dear to show&lt;br /&gt;That you're my every dream&lt;br /&gt;Yet you're afraid each thing I do&lt;br /&gt;Is just some evil scheme&lt;br /&gt;-Norah Jones&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Is this how God feels?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These lyrics make me think of marriage. The other night a speaker at GC said that we need to trust God to fulfill our needs, trust him that He will love us, trust Him that He will not leave us. If we do not trust, we will leave Him and look for another.  The same is for our marriages -if we do not believe our husband will provide, love, and stay with us, we will end up wandering and find another whom we think is more trustworthy and so commit adultery.  I involuntarily sneered at the idea of trusting a man to never leave me.  I hope that my future husband does not have to have the same sentiments as these lyrics.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-6023389594969359972?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/6023389594969359972/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=6023389594969359972' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/6023389594969359972'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/6023389594969359972'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2009/09/never-let-me-go.html' title='Never Let Me Go'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-7481231479823137625</id><published>2009-09-16T19:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-16T19:31:31.592-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Stress, Cry, Stress</title><content type='html'>I have been on the verge of tears all day, and my eyes have welled up at the slightest mention of marriage, adultery, dads, or homosexuality for the past week.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-7481231479823137625?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/7481231479823137625/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=7481231479823137625' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/7481231479823137625'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/7481231479823137625'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2009/09/stress-cry-stress.html' title='Stress, Cry, Stress'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-4293625248510729363</id><published>2009-09-16T15:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-16T15:07:56.780-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Normal?</title><content type='html'>Do normal people feel acutely lonely at some point almost every day?  Do normal people feel stressed and worried to the point of crying if they actually do ever talk about it?  Do normal people talk about it?  Do they feel comfortable calling someone to talk to about it? Do they feel like they are just complaining and that the other person doesn't have time for it? Do they feel like they have more than one good friend who they can trust that they will not annoy and trust with their secrets and worries and foolish feelings?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-4293625248510729363?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/4293625248510729363/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=4293625248510729363' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/4293625248510729363'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/4293625248510729363'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2009/09/normal.html' title='Normal?'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-1720293015031130638</id><published>2009-09-15T19:04:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-15T19:04:47.177-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Letter to Self</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_w0CR8VQ1Aok/SrBHtqscf9I/AAAAAAAAAnA/mJRIfcYlBqA/s1600-h/IMG_1380.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_w0CR8VQ1Aok/SrBHtqscf9I/AAAAAAAAAnA/mJRIfcYlBqA/s400/IMG_1380.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381880404588134354" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-1720293015031130638?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/1720293015031130638/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=1720293015031130638' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/1720293015031130638'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/1720293015031130638'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2009/09/letter-to-self.html' title='Letter to Self'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_w0CR8VQ1Aok/SrBHtqscf9I/AAAAAAAAAnA/mJRIfcYlBqA/s72-c/IMG_1380.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-7841852701267883472</id><published>2009-09-14T19:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-14T19:23:35.432-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Ever Make It Right</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:ARIAL;font-size:85%;"&gt;Soon we'll just be a memory. In fact, someone, some foolish person will probably think it's a tribute to this city, the way it keeps changing on you, the way you can never count on it, or something. I know, because that's the sort of thing I'm always saying. But the truth is, I'm heartbroken. I feel as if part of me has died, and my mother has died all over again, and no one can ever make it right.&lt;br /&gt;Kathleen in You've Got Mail&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-7841852701267883472?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/7841852701267883472/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=7841852701267883472' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/7841852701267883472'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/7841852701267883472'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2009/09/ever-make-it-right.html' title='Ever Make It Right'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-1331697775360865368</id><published>2009-09-11T18:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-11T18:50:03.966-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Lame Jerk</title><content type='html'>I was hoping he would be the guy I could call and talk to when I got upset, that I could confide in about dad and our family, about exercise, I was hoping i finally found someone who would care about all of it, not just some of it, and be able to be there and to actually comfort me and not feel awkward. Someone who I could be emotional with and have them be emotional back. I guess not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Joel came over tonight for a date, I made him pot roast and homemade chocolate cake. He was over for 3 and a half hours.  The last 5 minutes he decided to tell me, "I'm not going to string you along, this would be better if we just be friends."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-1331697775360865368?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/1331697775360865368/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=1331697775360865368' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/1331697775360865368'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/1331697775360865368'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2009/09/lame-jerk.html' title='Lame Jerk'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-6440184167660810546</id><published>2009-09-10T13:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-10T14:09:37.760-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Tease</title><content type='html'>Agh,&lt;br /&gt;Joel (a guy I went on a date with last week) sent me a message on facebook. At the end of the message he said, "I have something to tell you, but I'm not going to type it on here. That's stupid. I'll tell you in person on Friday."&lt;p id="msg_1562550360_3971989047" class="p_self pic_padding"&gt;we had been talking about finding balance, since I had kinda freaked out that he hadn't contacted me in 3 days...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My immediate thought to his "I have something to tell you" was, "dangit, he's GAY"&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p id="msg_1562550360_3971989047" class="p_self pic_padding"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p id="msg_1562550360_3971989047" class="p_self pic_padding"&gt;-------------&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div id="11" style="background-color: transparent;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; color: rgb(215, 51, 6);"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;color:#000000;"&gt;I don't usually feel like this with guys, flustered, I mean. Most guys I feel like i have at least something that is better than them -looks, knowledge, cultured, wit, something.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div id="13" style="background-color: transparent;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; color: rgb(215, 51, 6);"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;color:#000000;"&gt;Joel seems more like an equal on all levels &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; color: rgb(215, 51, 6);"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;color:#000000;"&gt;and it makes me nervous and flustered.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;color:#000000;"&gt;Joel is attractive, smart, cultured, clever, musical. He is crazy similar to me. My friend Andy thinks it's weird. Andy feels like we are dating ourselves, if that makes sense.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;color:#000000;"&gt;It makes me uncomfortable that he can legitimately challenge me on all levels, pretty much. Usually I have something I can store confidence in and not get nervous, feel like I have some sort of power.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div id="18" style="background-color: transparent;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; color: rgb(215, 51, 6);"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-6440184167660810546?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/6440184167660810546/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=6440184167660810546' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/6440184167660810546'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/6440184167660810546'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2009/09/tease.html' title='Tease'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-5017561806520583026</id><published>2009-09-07T06:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-07T06:24:04.541-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Vineyard Lex</title><content type='html'>Ok, so I love my church.  This an email to my pastor that I wrote this morning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hello Kevin,&lt;br /&gt;I wanted to let you know that I have appreciated your sermons the past two weeks and was saddened when I heard you say that you walked out the past two weeks feeling like a dog.  The past two weeks have confirmed what I heard this summer while working at a camp for inner city kids (Kids Across America).  While working at the camp, I found that my addiction to exercise (aka exercise bulimia) was keeping me from serving Christ.  I couldn't love this kids that God had placed at the camp when I was constantly worrying about whether I was eating too much or exercising too little and feeling gross.  I was getting up at 5am every morning (2 hours before wake up time) in order to work out and my body was not able to keep up with the camp schedule on such a small amount of sleep. I was convicted that I was putting my exercise and fears before God; I would rather skip time with God than skip my work out without blinking.  I mean, I almost missed my grandmother's funeral because I "had" to work out. I knew that I was being a "grapefruit" Christian -with exercise taking up half of my grapefruit-, but I was too scared to let go of exercise.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Your recent sermons have given me the courage to put into action what my eyes were opened to this summer. I have recently quit swim team (I cried for 2 days, but I know being on the team only retards my recovery).  I also only worked out 5 times this week, something I haven't done in a little over 2 years.  I am trying to tell my fears "no" and to remember that serving the kingdom is much more important than my irrational fears of gaining weight.  Thank you speaking the truth and encouraging me to walk away from the sin/slavery that Jesus has already set me free from. I know that this will not be an easy thing to leave behind, but I am already experiencing freedom from it in ways that I didn't think were possible a few months ago.&lt;br /&gt;Thanks,&lt;br /&gt;Amy&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-5017561806520583026?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/5017561806520583026/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=5017561806520583026' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/5017561806520583026'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/5017561806520583026'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2009/09/vineyard-lex.html' title='Vineyard Lex'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-4538583778066396852</id><published>2009-09-01T17:47:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-01T17:47:51.292-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Chapel Seat</title><content type='html'>Oh, and I put in a request to change my chapel seat so that I will, hopefully, not be anywhere near Alex.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-4538583778066396852?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/4538583778066396852/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=4538583778066396852' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/4538583778066396852'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/4538583778066396852'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2009/09/chapel-seat.html' title='Chapel Seat'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-8543235862410455204</id><published>2009-09-01T17:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-01T18:20:18.472-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Too Busy to Listen</title><content type='html'>Everyone is too busy. Maybe that's just an excuse I tell myself.  I'm sure people would listen if I asked them.  Do I really want them to?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really want to sit on a couch and talk to someone. I suppose I would be complaining, I am not sure.  Then again, I can hear Dawn saying that complaining and talking about grief are two different things.  However, it feels to me like if I say something once it is grieving, but if I say it again it is complaining.  I feel so much hurt right now, but I don't know if I feel comfortable with anyone or trust anyone enough to care about what I feel to say it in front of them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My mom had trouble letting go of my father even after she found out he had cheated on her and continued to do so and that he didn't truly love her in a sacrificial way.  I am obviously having trouble letting go of Alex, even though I don't want him back necessarily and I am completely aware he is a selfish donkey.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I miss having someone that I felt I had a right to complain/ponder/grieve to and spend time with.  Why do I not feel like I have a right to those things with other people?  Why do I feel like those things are "rights" that come with relationships? Are friends and boyfriends necessarily required to do those things when I ask/need them and they don't have any prior obligations?  I suppose they aren't required because they should probably want to do them, whether it is required or not.  I guess the answer would be that I probably still undervalue myself, ugh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p id="msg_1181182674_1061593251" class="p_self pic_padding"&gt;I felt like I had a right, a prerogative, to make Alex listen to me because he was committed to me, no one else had ever promised/committed to me anything&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;. &lt;/span&gt;Even though I felt I had that right, he felt like I was demanding too much when I asked that of him. So the one time I felt comfortable, the other person just slapped me in the face and pretty much told me (in effect) that no one wants to/should listen and be with me when I want/need them.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-8543235862410455204?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/8543235862410455204/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=8543235862410455204' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/8543235862410455204'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/8543235862410455204'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2009/09/too-busy-to-listen.html' title='Too Busy to Listen'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-3509129276272414656</id><published>2009-08-31T05:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-31T06:07:07.967-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Donkey</title><content type='html'>Well, it finally drove me to my wits end. Alex not talking to me and not making in effort to contact me for 3 months finally got to me.  So I took Jacob's advice and text him the simple message, "hey. Want to go for a walk or something and catch up with each other?".  He replied with, "Is it gonna lead to you wanting to date again?" -I was so mad that he would so insolent as to say that! I was in the Aldersgate laundry room at the time and began to yell and scream curse words about him.  He also decided to text me about how he came up with the idea that I was looking for a dad -not a boyfriend- in him, but I gave him that idea over the phone this summer the last time we talked! He did not come up with it!  I told him that I didn't talk to him for 3 months and he said "that is only because you are still trying to get over me..."   Then he accused me of lying to him this summer because in early June I told him that I thought I was over him -I didn't mean to lie, I really thought I was 98% over him and that, in a few days, it would be 100%.  I asked him to stop texting me all these things and to talk to me face to face, but he said "while texting I can multitask. I never give anything my full attention..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whiel texting him all of this, I left the laundry room and went for a crazy "drive" down the KY roads screaming profanities and how much I hated certain people, then I finally calmed down when I had to put more gas in my car and went to see Jacob at the Student Center.  When I got back to my room, I talked to Alex a little on facebook.  He decided that he had a right to tell me that I should do him a favor and double or triple my standards that I had for him and "never veer away" from those standards.  I can't believe he had enough guts to say that, as if I don't know what an a** he was/is to me, as if I want to date him or someone like him again.  Besides, 2x or 3x better than him is not good enough at all, the standard needs to be at least 10x better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I cried myself to sleep.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-3509129276272414656?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/3509129276272414656/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=3509129276272414656' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/3509129276272414656'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/3509129276272414656'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2009/08/donkey.html' title='A Donkey'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-4553344240620230337</id><published>2009-08-30T05:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-30T05:53:56.726-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Date Night/Thoughts</title><content type='html'>My first date of the year was last night. It will probably be my only date of the year, haha.  It was pretty fun though. His name is Josh, he's a PK, Asian, in the marine reserves, and a science major in his senior year.  We went to see Up at the discount theater (at my request) and then a book store to hang out in. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; I cried a little in Up when the little boy's dad didn't show up to the badge pinning ceremony, but then all the sudden the older guy was there to take the father's place. I want that. Not that my dad just isn't there at all, but that was the thought that went through my head at that scene, "I want that."  A grandpa who will buy both his grand daughters stuffed animals instead of being so cheap that he only buys them one to share. A dad who gets his daughter good quality and what she would like, not what he thinks is a bargain and he wants.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;During the movie, Josh kept looking over when I laughed and kept fidgeting, so I thought that was a good sign. When we went to the bookstore though, he got kind of awkward and I felt like his body language was trying to inch him towards the exit door. However, when we got in the car to go back to campus, he asked me if there was anywhere else I wanted to go.  I didn't reach over and give him a hug goodnight when he dropped me off at my dorm, I probably should have (there were no spaces available for him to park and walk me).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;------------------------&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lately, I have been feeling kinda of frustrated at Ed. I just can't believe sometimes that I have fallen prey to such a cliche thing. I mean, Eds are for weak people, those who don't understand nutrition and what they are doing, people who have no confidence or self-esteem, dumb people who can't see what they are doing is obviously damaging and does no good.  That's how I feel a lot. Ashamed that it would happen to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have been keeping track on paper and following Alice's diet for me. It's really not fun to follow sometimes, but I know that I feel better when I do.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-4553344240620230337?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/4553344240620230337/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=4553344240620230337' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/4553344240620230337'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/4553344240620230337'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2009/08/date-nightthoughts.html' title='Date Night/Thoughts'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-8140479043543490659</id><published>2009-08-26T12:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-26T12:33:09.453-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Apartment</title><content type='html'>http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S09If5sBV5w&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Follow the link for a tour of my on-campus apartment at Asbury!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Being back has been kinda nice. I have only gone to the cafeteria once in an entire week.  I have been going to the Luce to swim, considering joining a local gym, and reading a lot. All of my classes are HUGE reading classes. 4 out of the 6 of my classes require 4 books/novels in addition to outside articles. My other two classes require 2 or 3 books. I will be spending lots of time alone in quiet places, I suppose.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since being on campus, it has been so hard to not think about Alex and to not contact him. He sits one seat away from me in chapel. My friend Josh sits between us, thank goodness.  He has done nothing more than to wave and say "hi" once. I don't want to talk to him, but at the same time I do.  I can tell I am not over him, though he is clearly over me.  I wish he wasn't, but I know it's better for me that he is. I hate this. It's been 8 months, why can't I just move on? I haven't gone a single day in almost 2 years without thinking about him.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-8140479043543490659?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/8140479043543490659/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=8140479043543490659' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/8140479043543490659'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/8140479043543490659'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2009/08/apartment.html' title='Apartment'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-2214913478568219863</id><published>2009-08-19T13:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-19T13:12:04.462-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Contact Mishap</title><content type='html'>&lt;p id="msg_135001230_2860820358" class="p_self pic_padding"&gt;so my contact was really bothering me all day yesterday, it was blurry&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p id="msg_135001230_3846798212" class="p_self pic_padding"&gt;I couldn't figure out why&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p id="msg_135001230_1892098579" class="p_self pic_padding"&gt;when I took it out in the evening (the third time I had taken it out wondering what was wrong because it was brand new), I looked closely and there were TWO contacts! I had had TWO contacts in my eye, on top of each other, all day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-2214913478568219863?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/2214913478568219863/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=2214913478568219863' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/2214913478568219863'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/2214913478568219863'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2009/08/contact-mishap.html' title='Contact Mishap'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-7710091434468781971</id><published>2009-08-17T15:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-17T15:08:26.132-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Unwanted Reply</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;This is kind of the reply that I was afraid of and why I didn't really want to ask in the first place:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Amy,&lt;br /&gt;I think you need to really pray about this!&lt;/span&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;We need everyone to either be on the team or not, and really can't gear it down too much. &lt;/span&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I too have been worried that this is not what you need, considering your eating disorder.  And I am not at peace with this.  I worry it will be too intense for you, and you are a perfectionist and starting swimming competitively in college is never success oriented.  Most of these people have been on teams since they were 7 years old.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;What other healthy options do you have for fall that you could be involved in?  Intramurals?  Lifeguarding?  (and keeping up with the mandatory swims per week)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Let me know what you are thinking.  Of course we want you on our support team (timing at meets, etc.)&lt;/span&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Blessings,&lt;/span&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Dorothy&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-7710091434468781971?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/7710091434468781971/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=7710091434468781971' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/7710091434468781971'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/7710091434468781971'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2009/08/unwanted-reply.html' title='Unwanted Reply'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4525006362917088663.post-8222965343866148095</id><published>2009-08-17T07:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-17T07:31:46.467-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Down from 6 to 5</title><content type='html'>Letter to Dorothy, the swim coach:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hello,&lt;br /&gt;I have been talking to my nutritionist lately and she has suggested that I take my exercise down to 5 days a week instead of 6.  How would that fit in with swim team?  I am not sure I can handle only 5 days as it is, and it is only a suggestion from her.&lt;br /&gt;-Amy&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S.&lt;br /&gt;I have been debating whether to even bring the subject up with you for weeks now because it makes me really nervous. I really want to be a part of swim team, but I am scared to compete and to commit to something so intense and I want it to be something good for me, not something that promotes an unhealthy relationship with exercise.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;------------&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I almost cried while writing the above email. I got that nervous and that upset.  I don't know what she will say. I don't know if she will suggest that I just not swim with the team. I want to be a part of the team, but I feel like my issues are getting in the way and will keep me from being part of it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4525006362917088663-8222965343866148095?l=vintagelines.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/feeds/8222965343866148095/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4525006362917088663&amp;postID=8222965343866148095' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/8222965343866148095'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4525006362917088663/posts/default/8222965343866148095'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vintagelines.blogspot.com/2009/08/letter-to-dorothy-swim-coach-hello-i.html' title='Down from 6 to 5'/><author><name>Kiwi</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O47ky7ezhjs/TlfhNimWgNI/AAAAAAAAA_s/nijpMEXWLEw/s220/DandyYellow.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
